


Ride With Me

by katehuntington



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Cowboy Dean, Domestic Violence, F/M, Family, Family Feels, Family Issues, Female Friendship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Fun, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Horseback Riding, Horses, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Humor, Modern Western AU, Past Child Abuse, Sad, Series, Slow Burn, Smoking, Smut, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Work In Progress, cowboy!dean winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:18:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 56,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katehuntington/pseuds/katehuntington
Summary: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. (multi-chapter Dean x Reader series. Slow burn. Fluff, angst, eventual smut)
Relationships: Ash & Bobby Singer, Ash & Ellen Harvelle, Ash & Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash & Jo Harvelle, Benny Lafitte & Castiel, Benny Lafitte & Dean Winchester, Benny Lafitte & You, Bobby Singer & Castiel, Bobby Singer & Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer & You, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Ash, Dean Winchester & John Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You, Ellen Harvelle & Dean Winchester, Ellen Harvelle & Reader, Ellen Harvelle & You, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Garth Fitzgerald IV & Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV & Dean Winchester, Jo Harvelle & Dean Winchester, Jo Harvelle & You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	1. Welcome To Arizona

“This is just great…”

After a long, turbulent flight next to a rather large and sweaty nervous flyer - who had way too much garlic for lunch, by the way - Y/N thought she was done. But now that she’s waiting outside Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport with no one in sight to pick her up, it seems that the universe isn’t going to stop toying with her just yet. To top it off, the weather decided to throw a curveball as well. What happened to the lovely sun rays and dry heat from the brochure? Right now it’s so humid that the fabric of her clothing clings to her skin as if it’s trying to hold on for dear life, and to make matters worse, rain begins to fall from the clouded sky. Right; monsoon season. Oh, well. At least the entrance of the arrival hall offers the traveler some shelter.

With a sigh she sits down on her oversized suitcase, scanning her surroundings for a driver. She should have picked up something to eat in the arrival hall; she could eat a horse, as a figure of speech that is. Obviously, Y/N would never eat a horse, since she loves those animals. They are the reason why she touched down in Phoenix in the first place. From the age of four, she’s been riding the majestic animals. Being on the back of a horse is one of the first memories she can recall, now that she thinks of it. When she was a little girl and was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, the answer was always the same: she wanted to be a professional rider with her own ranch. 

That’s the dream. No, that’s the_ goal_.

Despite her unconditional love for these noble creatures and an overload of motivation to execute this plan, her parents encouraged their daughter to go to college. Heck, she even got her master’s degree, but honestly, all she ever wants to do is ride. So when she graduated a few weeks ago, the eager rider thought that was exactly what she was going to do from that point on. Her father wasn’t impressed with her business plan, though, and decided that he was only going to lend her the money to start up her own company if she would complete half a year of ranch work. _‘No quitting, no complaints’_, is what he said. Clearly, he’s underestimating her, because how hard could ranch life possibly be? Sure, in the past she spent most of her time riding and not so much cleaning or feeding. After all, employees at the boarding stable did that for the clients. But she had insight, management skills, and other great characteristics that will help run a business. What are six months of hard labor going to contribute, besides a good waistline?  
  
Although she believes her father’s plan is completely unnecessary, she is going with it. Those twenty-six weeks will pass by in the blink of an eye. It’s gonna be a walk in the park, smooth sailing, right? Except for the fact that she’s already stranded, alone, and with no clue where to go. Hopefully, the rocky flight to the desert wasn’t an omen for what is yet to come. 

After fifteen minutes of waiting, she takes out her phone again. For a second her thumb lingers on the speed dial that would put a call through to her father, but then she looks up the number of the ranch owner in her email and calls him instead. Running back to Mom and Dad is not going to deliver the message of an independent woman who is ready for the big world. Looks like she will have to dig herself out of this mess. Arizona might not have been her Dad’s best idea, but she’s here now. Pride forbids her to give him, or all the others who were skeptical, the satisfaction of being right. 

~~~

“Bobby, are ya gonna pick up the damn phone or what?”

Dean sets it down on the bar next to the buzzing phone. He glances at the screen, unable to identify the number, and looks up again, searching the saloon for his uncle. At the long table in the center of the lounge, the man in his mid-sixties is enjoying a game of cards and a glass of whiskey, accompanied by a few members of the crew. Bobby hasn’t heard Dean, too busy laughing over the dirty joke Ash just told. Right when his nephew is about to call out his name again, the phone on the wooden counter stops ringing. Oh well, if it’s important they will call again, right? Even though he feels drained from last days’ events, he will not let anything take away this carefree feeling. Together with Jo, Benny and a couple of regular guests, they moved the young cattle from the summer pasture up in the Superstition Mountains back to the ranch. It took two days to locate the herd, but eventually, they found them at Weaver’s Needle.  
  
After hours spent in the saddle and camping out for several nights, they all needed a shower, a good meal and a cold beer. Bringing the cattle in is one of the highlights of the season and worth a celebration. It didn’t take long before wranglers, workers, guests, and everyone else who has participated, gathered in the saloon to celebrate. The place hasn’t been this crowded in years and it brings a smile to Dean’s face as he takes it all in, resting the palms of his hands on the edge of the bar. A raw and upbeat country song - that he recognizes as ‘Along The Way’ by the _Sunday Kids_ \- fills the room together with growling laughter and cigarette smoke. Cheers rise when the beer bottles are heaved into the air, overruling the sound of billiard balls colliding on the pool table. 

He lets a sigh slip from his lips when he glances aside at Ellen, who just brought back a full tray of empty glasses. As she sets the load down on the counter to give her arms some rest, his aunt smiles, witnessing the pleased expression on Dean’s face.   
“Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” she asks.  
Dean nods, leaning down to grab two new bottles of Corona from the cooler. “It’s a good night.”  
Ellen grants her eyes another look at her saloon as she takes the beer that is handed over; she can only agree. “It sure is."  
  
They toast to that and both take a swig, but before Dean can swallow his drink, the phone on the counter starts ringing again. He guesses it apparently is important and calls out Bobby’s name, a little louder this time.  
“I’m in the middle of a poker game, son,” he replies, not looking up from his cards.  
“Your phone’s been buzzing like crazy,” Dean notifies as he approaches Bobby, noticing the pair of queens in his hand.  
“Is it ringing, really? How come I can’t hear the damn thing?”  
Ellen scoffs from behind the counter. “Maybe because you need to start using your God-forsaken hearing aids.”  
“Woman, my ears work just fine,” he returns, continuing to mutter much softer to prevent his wife from hearing him. “I can hear you jappin’, can’t I?”

Dean - who did pick up on his words - smirks in amusement and checks on his aunt if she really didn’t hear her husband, but when she looks from one to the other confused, he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Meanwhile, Bobby grumpily turns his cards upside down on the table and takes the phone. The ranch owner adjusts his worn baseball cap a little as he looks down at the screen, puzzled, obviously not sure how to work the piece of modern technology.  
“How the hell do I pick up?” he wonders out loud.  
“You swipe it, Dad.”  
Jo walks up from the pool table and leans over her father’s shoulder, still holding her cue stick. With a simple movement, she lets her finger slide across the touchscreen. Somewhat clumsily, Bobby presses the phone against his ear, letting out a hesitant ‘hello?’ as if he’s not completely sure if that little magic trick actually worked.  
  
“You really had to give him your old iPhone, huh?” Dean sniggers when Jo walks past him, back to the pool table to finish the game.  
“Anything’s better than that old Nokia,” his cousin returns, throwing him a look as she whips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “That thing was prehistoric.”  
Dean grins at the remark and leans against the edge of the pool table. He observes the game that is in play on the green quarried slate. Jo is acing it, it’s her turn to shoot the eight-ball in already, while her opponent still has several balls in the game. The petite blonde positions herself behind the black number eight, throwing a seducing glance at the slick-looking young man on the other side of the table. With a flirtatious sparkle in her eyes, she allows her low-cut tank top to show a little more cleavage as she bends over. It doesn’t go unnoticed with the men in her company, but unlike the guest that she’s reeling in, Dean has the urge to cover up his little cousin. It’s not just a game of pool that these youngsters are going to be playing tonight.  
  
“Sure you want to aim it like that?” Dean asks, amusingly waiting for her to pick up the double meaning of his words.  
A deadly glare comes his way and his smirk reaches even wider. Not granting him another second of her time Jo focuses on the final ball again and without a trace of doubt pockets it, winning the game. Victoriously, she holds up her hand in front of tonight’s loser, who reluctantly hands her a twenty-dollar bill. A chuckle escapes Dean’s throat and he takes another swig of the sparkling yellow brew called Corona. As he lowers the bottle, the cowboy’s attention shifts to his uncle, who is still on the phone.

“- I’m very sorry, It’s been really hectic today with the cattle coming in and it slipped my mind completely.”  
The apologetic tone in Bobby’s voice piques Dean’s interest. Jo joins him, leaning against the table while resting her elbows on the rails.  
“Any idea what that’s about?” Dean wonders, but she shakes her head.  
“- that’s no problem. I’ll send someone to pick you up right away.”

After having made that promise, Bobby eyes his employees, then his wife and daughter, hoping that someone is sober enough to keep his obligation. It triggers Dean to nudge his friend Benny, who answers his unspoken question by shaking his head; he’s not volunteering, and neither is Garth. The skinny stable boy now turns to Ash - catching the ranch hand peeking into Bobby’s cards while his boss is occupied - and he elbows him. Shrugging his shoulders the guy who is rocking a mullet lets out an innocent ‘what?’ under his breath. It’s obvious, though, that Ash is in no shape to drive, since he already drank half a crate of his favorite Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. It’s heading towards eleven PM and after an exhausting couple of days, no one is looking forward to driving out to Phoenix. Not to mention that the amount of liquor they’ve consumed might actually jeopardize getting the person Bobby is talking to from A to B.

“Balls!” the boss curses after he hangs up.  
“Forgot somethin’?” Ellen assumes from what she picked up, as she continues to polish a glass behind the bar.  
“Yeah, that new intern from Maine,” he mutters as he gets up.  
Ellen’s jaw drops, staring at her husband in shock. “You didn’t! That poor girl is at the airport right now?”  
“Landed forty-five minutes ago,” Bobby admits, embarrassed.  
“Whoa, wait! New intern?” Dean’s eyes slide from Bobby to Ellen and back, unable to follow.  
“Did I forget to mention that? She’ll be under your supervision,” Bobby breaks to him.  
“What? I wasn’t even notified?!” he exclaims, his voice pitching a little higher than he anticipated.  
“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen,” Jo scoffs, placing her hand on her hip as she looks at him sideways. “Like you would mind a chick working _under you_.”  
Stunned by her bold comment, Dean cocks his head back as he stares at her wide-eyed; she’s got some nerve! He is about to counter when Jo’s mother already intervenes.  
“Joanna Beth!” she warns.  
“Oh, come on. It’s the truth, ain’t it?” her daughter mumbles, stubborn as ever.  
  
Ellen doesn’t answer. Instead, her attention shifts to the man who is moving towards the double doors. “And where do you think you’re going?”  
Bobby turns around, a confused furrow on his forehead. “Well, to pick up the girl, of course,” he returns, stating the obvious.  
“Like hell you are! You had three glasses of whiskey, Robert Singer. You’re not getting behind the wheel and that’s that,” Ellen decides with her shoulders back, arms crossed and eyes stern.  
Annoyed, but smart enough not to fight the strong-minded woman he married thirty years ago, he addresses Dean with a hopeful look.  
“Don’t look at me, this is my fourth beer,” he returns, holding his hand up innocently.  
“Same here, chief,” Benny copies, his southern accent thick on his voice.  
  
“I’ll go.” Jo straightens her back and takes her cowboy hat from the corner of the pool table.  
“You sure, honey?” her mother checks with her.  
“I had _one_ drink, Mom. You’re not gonna find a more sober person on the ranch at this hour,” she claims bored. “Keys?”  
That last demand was meant for Dean.  
“Keys to what?” he questions, suspecting something.  
An eye roll, a sigh. Jo’s typical routine when she’s done with her cousin. “Your car, asshat.”  
“What’s wrong with yours?”  
“I have a flat. Now, are you gonna hand me the keys, or what?” she says smartly.  
Jo holds up her hand and with a reluctant grunt Dean tosses the keys of his precious ‘67 Chevrolet El Camino pickup. Skillfully she catches it, smiles at him in triumph, and makes her way to the double doors.  
“If I find a scratch on her, I’ll make you regret it!” he shouts, loud enough for her to hear.  
“I’d like to see you try!” she scoffs.

A few moments later, the V8 big block under the hood of his beloved car starts up. Jo doesn’t even bother to warm up his baby before she races down the dirt road towards the big city down in the valley, skitting gravel from under the tires. Dean cringes when he hears her take off; _someone’s gonna pay for that.  
_ He will deal with her when she gets back. Until that time Dean settles down at the long table, watching the poker game. Obviously, Ash folds the moment Bobby raises the stakes, leaving the ranch owner with fewer chips than he hoped to win.  
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Dean requests before Garth starts dealing the cards.  
  
Bobby looks at him from under his cap, observing his nephew for a moment. He knows that kid. As a child, he was on the ranch more frequently than he was at home or in school, and he’s been working here since the age of fourteen. The boy is like a son to him, so no wonder he can read Dean like a book. Something is bothering the young wrangler, and so he gets off his chair and moves away from the crowded table. Shadowed by the young man, Bobby heads towards the corner of the bar, seeking a little privacy. Both sit down on a stool facing Ellen on the other side of the counter. Her husband doesn’t bother to ask her to pour him a drink, because she was on it before he even had the chance to settle in his seat.  
“Here you go, boys.” She puts down the filled whiskey tumblers on the varnished wood.  
Dean thanks her and takes the tumbler in his hand, clanking it into Bobby’s glass, who mutters ‘cheers’ as he does so. After watching Ellen enter the kitchen, the older man shifts his gaze to the young man accompanying him.  
“What’s on your mind, son?” he asks.

Dean adjusts himself a little, preparing for the upcoming conversation. He doesn’t like to question his uncle, who also happens to be his boss. This is the part where it gets tricky to keep work and family separated. He has to speak up, though, because lately, he has the oppressive feeling that Bobby might not trust him entirely when it regards the management of the ranch. Obviously, the owner calls the shots, but he used to involve Dean whenever decisions needed to be made. It’s bothering him and he needs to get it off his chest.  
“Why didn’t you tell me you hired an intern?” he wonders.  
Bobby grunts softly, averting his eyes to his drink as he circles the whiskey glass on its edge. He knew this talk was coming and instantly regrets keeping Dean in the dark about recent developments. His nephew is an exceptional horseman, loyal to his family, a trustworthy worker. A little relentless when it comes to risks and danger, and yes, an impulsive womanizer, but there’s one thing he isn’t and that’s stupid. He’s Bobby’s right hand for a reason, he should have known he would pick up on something.

“Because I knew you wouldn’t approve,” he admits, taking a sip.  
Dean scoffs at that. “If you knew I wouldn’t be okay with it, why did you hire her?”  
“Because she’s free help, Dean.”  
“Is she any good? Did you look into her?” His head wrangler eyes him, trying to make out how thorough he has been in his research.  
It doesn’t take long before his uncle’s guilty expression gives it away.  
“You didn’t even interview her, did ya? You just said ‘yes’? Look, I know things have been a little difficult since Gabriel left, but we’re managing fine now,” he assures him. “Educating a wannabe cowgirl is actually gonna cost me valuable time and there’s a lot of shit that needs sortin’. We have to bring in the two-year-old stallions, the calves need branding, the young stock has to be moved to the winter pastures–”  
Bobby interrupts Dean’s ramble by holding up his hand to shush him, intervening the moment he has an opening. “You don’t have to worry about the young stock, I’m selling it.”  
  
Stunned, Dean stares at him. And when was Bobby planning to tell him this?  
“Why the hell would you do that?” he questions unpleasantly surprised.   
Before his boss can answer, Dean can make an estimated guess already. The concerned look in Bobby’s eyes when they meet his green ones confirms it; money is tight, very tight. The crisis has laid the ranch in a thick suffocating smog of debt and so far it doesn’t look like the air is going to clear anytime soon. Hay prices are sky high while his stock sells for half the price they used to go for. It has been hard to keep their heads above water, but so far they’ve been able to ride out the economic recession, so Dean thought. But now that Bobby’s telling him that the one-year-old cattle has to go, it dawns on him how serious the situation is.   
  
His jaw clenches as he observes the ice in his glass for a moment, pondering in silence. And just like that, the moment of careless happiness he was experiencing a moment ago, is gone.  
“You wanna sell all of them? Or just the steers?” he checks.  
“All of them,” Bobby sighs, downing his drink.   
“How you wanna handle that next year? Buy in again? It’s gonna cost you a lot,” Dean responds, trying to think of another way.  
“Right now, all we need to worry about is surviving _this_ year, son.” Bobby pauses, now comes the bit that he wanted to avoid. Drastic measures are necessary for the survival of their home. Maybe the term ‘sacrifice’ is a better way to describe what he’s about to announce. “That’s why I need you to let one of the wranglers go.”  
  
Shocked, Dean stares at the man in his company. Not looking him in the eye, Bobby forks his fingers together, resting his elbows on the counter.  
“You want me to fire one of my men?” Dean recaps in disbelief. “No, let me correct that, you want me to fire one of my _friends_?”  
“What you do with your colleagues in your spare time should not influence a layoff,” the ranch owner counters.  
But Dean disagrees strongly. “That’s bullshit and you know it. These guys are practically family, Bobby.”  
“You think I don’t know that, boy? I ain’t happy about it either, damn it! You think I’m proud of having to send one of those guys home?”  
He nods at the workers, who are laughing loudly as Ash folds his tattooed arms around the mountain of chips that are stacked on the table, reeling in the win. Neither he, Benny, or Garth have a clue what is hanging over their heads, but it’s probably better that way. Only now does Dean he understand why Bobby didn’t tell him before. The poor man simply didn’t want to burden him.  
“I have to. For the future of this place, Dean. And I wish I didn’t have to ask you to do this, but you know your crew best. You know who’s most needed and who ya can miss,” Bobby explains with empathy.  
  
Dean wants to fight him, he wants to object and argue in every way possible. Who he can miss? He can’t miss any of his men. Shit, after they let Gabriel go, they were barely able to round up the daily routine before dinner. But he knows how this works and he knows Bobby would do anything to make sure that the boys can keep their jobs. There is no right or wrong answer here, every option behind every door is a bad one. There’s nothing the boss can do about it and Dean understands that.  
“I know. I’ll handle it. Just give me a couple of days and I’ll let you know,” he assures, patting his uncle on the shoulder.  
Bobby nods, but is unable to break a smile. He’s carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders, go figure when you have to play God like that. It’s exactly the reason why Dean took on the task to fire one of the workers, hoping that it would relieve his surrogate father a bit.  
  
“I need another drink,” Bobby mutters, reaching for the Jack Daniels behind the counter.  
Dean checks on his uncle from the corner of his eye, but then puts his glass down next to his. “You and me both. That intern better be good. Do you know anything about her?”  
“I know she’s a reining rider, pretty damn talented too. Not much experience in ranch work, though,” Bobby tells him.   
“Blonde? Brunette? Cute?” Dean smirks as he fishes for more information, but Bobby doesn’t reply with a straight answer.  
“Oh, _hell_ no. Not under my roof,” Bobby decides, having seen this play out numerous times already. “She’s staying for six months so tie a knot in it and keep it in your pants for once.”  
“If she sticks around that long.” the young man scoffs, triggering Bobby to glare at him.  
“What?” Dean argues. “We had plenty who went home crying within a week. This work ain’t for everyone.”  
“I know you’re not happy with the situation, but do me a favor and just give her a chance, will ya?” Bobby pressures. “She seemed like a go-getter. She might surprise you.”  
“Maybe. We’ll see,” Dean downs his glass and slides off his stool.

Bobby watches his nephew walk away from him. It takes only a second before the charismatic cowboy put his poker face on, just in time, because Garth signals him to come over. So he does, but his next step shows a hint of hesitation. He turns on the heels of his boots, the thumb of his left hand casually hooked behind his belt buckle.  
“What’s her name?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes a little.  
Bobby huffs and casts his gaze at him. “Her name is Y/N,” he states. “Y/N L/N.”  
Dean raises his brow, nodding satisfied. Y/N. Sounds good, has a nice ring to it. Curious he imagines what kind of person would fit a name like that and as a perky smile starts to form on his lips, he joins the guys.

Bobby can spot the up-to-no-good sparkle in his nephew’s green eyes and he can’t help but smile into his refilled glass of Jack. He can point a parenting finger at Dean all he wants, but if this intern is his type, he’s going to charm her right into his bed like he has done with so many women already. _Oh, well. We’ve all been young, _he thinks to himself. Dean being a wrangler only stacks up the number of girls dwelling at the pretty boy’s feet and he never failed to take full advantage of that. Who can blame him, really? He hasn’t committed to anyone yet, why not make the best of it?

For a moment he takes in what’s playing before his eyes. His wife having a good conversation with a group of guests, the crew gathered around the long table where Ash just revealed a full house, causing the men to go out of their minds. It’s a nice moment that will make a great memory. Bobby can only hope that those moments keep coming, because no matter how precious, no man can live on memories alone.


	2. Quick On The Draw

The rain has stopped falling down just as suddenly as it started, but the asphalt in front of the airport entrance still shimmers under the streetlights. Knowing that it’s going to take at least forty-five minutes for her ride to arrive, Y/N treated herself to a cup of coffee from Starbucks, which she sips on while seated on her suitcase. Whenever a set of headlights approaches, she looks up hopefully, but up to now, all cars have passed by. With a bored sigh, she tucks her flat-ironed hair behind her ear and yawns, despite the caffeine she’s consuming.  
She checks her phone again. “Come on, already…”

When she looks up from the device, a black pickup pulls up to the curb. It triggers her to straighten her back and seek eye contact with the driver. As the car comes to a stop, a young woman has turned to look outside her downed passenger window.  
“Are you Y/N?”  
“Yes,” she responds a bit hesitantly as she rises.  
The driver grins and signals her to come closer. “Well, get in. I ain’t got all night!” 

Y/N smiles back somewhat nervously, draws out the grip of her suitcase, and rolls it to the side of the car. With difficulty she manages to push the heavy load in the open cargo area, making sure not to scratch the paint or spill her coffee, after which she hastens to the passenger door and gets in. Before she sits down, Jo picks up her ivory white cowboy hat from the seat and puts it down behind her, offering her passenger a place to sit. As she does so and closes the door, the driver holds out her hand. Y/N shakes it, surprised by the strength of the young woman’s grip.  
“Jo Singer,” she introduces herself. “Welcome on the Gold Canyon Ranch Express.”

While Jo steers the car back on the road, Y/N takes her in. She’s slender, not very tall, but the confidence she radiates makes up for that. She’s rocking the bootcut jeans and western boots, a comfortable loosely knitted sweater covers the skin that her tank-top doesn’t. The young woman has plaited her hair in a messy braid, which falls down from her left shoulder. With one hand at twelve o’clock on the wheel and the other casually hanging outside the door, she averts her focus from the road for a brief second, turning to her passenger.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait. Cattle just came in and Dad got a little caught up. He gets that way sometimes,” Jo apologizes as she lowers the volume of the radio a little.  
“That’s okay,” Y/N assures, holding up her coffee. “I had company.”  
“What_ is _that, by the way? Do I smell cinnamon?” Jo eyes the coffee container as if it’s alien.  
“It’s a Cinnamon Dolce Latte,” Y/N states before taking a sip.  
“A what now?”  
Registering Jo’s expression, she sniggers. “Cinnamon, coffee, and milk, basically.”  
“Fancy.” The driver grins. “You’re from up north, right?”  
“Yeah. Freeport, Maine,” she elaborates. “It’s quite a change of scenery.”  
“I’ll bet,” the cowgirl behind the wheel assures. “Ya’ll have pretty cold winters over there, huh?”

Curiously, the new girl looks over at Jo. The Southern charm in her voice is rich. Her accent has a lot more soul to it than the ones she picked up in the arrival hall and the coffee place back at the airport. Not even the local taxi drivers who were chatting as they waited for a ride sounded like Jo. 

“Yeah.” Y/N nods, answering the question after a beat. “Lots of snow too.”  
“You won’t ever be cold in Arizona, I can promise ya that, Yankee.”  
Y/N chuckles. “Yankee?”  
“That’s what us Southerners call Northerners,” she explains. “Better get used to it.”  
“I thought Arizona was considered the Southwest,” the intern says.  
Now it’s Jo’s turn to smirk, as she gives her a side-eye. “Aren’t you as smart as all get out? But you’re right. My folks are from the South. The ranch belonged to my ma’s grandpa back in the day. When he got too old to work the land, Mom and Dad moved in to help and took over when he passed. I was born and raised here in Gold Canyon, but what can I say? It’s hard to lose the slang when you’re around a bunch of Southerners.”

Jo continues to make small talk. Y/N doesn’t mind it, though. It’s nice to get to know the ranch owner’s daughter and at least there’s not an awkward silence dwelling in the old pickup. Easy conversation about the weather is soon traded for other subjects, like the ranch and the horses.  
“Dad mentioned you’re a reining rider. What level are ya?” Jo asks.  
“Debuted in Open a couple of months ago.”

She tries to stay modest, but a proud smile forms on Y/N’s lips anyway. Hours of practice and years of training have brought her to the highest level in reining sport. When the letter from the National Reining Horse Association came in to inform her of the promotion from Non-Pro to Open, she remembered being so excited that she ran through the house screaming high pitched and hugged her parents so tight, she almost suffocated them. It took hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, but she made it. It all paid off.

“Whoa, you must be pretty damn good then!” Jo responds, eyebrows raised, impressed.  
Y/N doesn’t really respond, not sure how to take the compliment. Instead, she looks down at the coffee container in her lap. “What about you?”  
“I’m not a reiner,” the cowgirl smiles. “I race barrel.”

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to be fascinated. Sure, reining is an exciting discipline of horse riding, but barrel racing is a whole other ballgame. She always enjoys watching it at the rodeo. The speed, the acceleration, the tight corners around the barrels, beating the clock, every fraction of a second counting.

“What’s your PR?” she wonders.  
Jo looks at her sideways, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “16.1 seconds.”  
Y/N huffs, amazed. “That’s fast!”  
The ranch owner’s daughter shrugs it off. “I’ve got a very good horse.”  
“My grandfather taught me that a good horse will never become extraordinary unless it’s matched with a good rider.”  
Jo smiles at those wise words and gazes at the road ahead.

The beams of the headlights reach out several yards in front of them. Everything beyond remains in the darkness of night. Although the rain stopped falling down on the dry and thirsty land, clouds still shield out the frail moon’s radiance. They left Metro Phoenix about ten minutes ago and Y/N can barely see what’s out there, but what she can see, captivates her. For a girl who has never been to the southwest of the US, it seems foreign, not from this planet even. A pair of tail lights glides down the straight two-lane freeway towards an invisible horizon, while a few lights on the mountains give an idea of the relief in the east. Dust, sand, and rocks alongside the road are all that she can make out, joined with tall cacti and small bushes every now and then. This is the first time she has seen a cactus in its natural habitat. She didn’t know they could grow that tall.

“You should stay away from those when you go on a trail, especially the little fluffy lookin’ ones,” Jo suggests, noticing her passenger’s amazement as she watches the cacti pass by. “There’s nothing fluffy about the damn things when you get too close. I’ve seen the most gentle and laid back horses go full bronc after running their ass into a ‘cholla’.”  
Y/N chuckles; she can imagine that happening. Appreciating the tip, she turns her attention back to the driver.  
“Any other good advice for my first day tomorrow?” She dares to ask, curious about what lies ahead.  
Jo smiles at her, appreciating her eagerness. The girl beside her isn’t the first rookie to ask her this. To her, it’s a sign of insecurity, one that comes along with the lack of experience.

“You didn’t do a lot of ranch work back in Maine, did ya?” she confronts.  
Out of balance, Y/N looks aside at the driver, then averts her gaze. The gentle expression on Jo’s face should tell her that she doesn’t intend to make her feel uncomfortable, but she can’t help herself from moving in her seat a little, lost for words.  
“How can you tell?” she replies shyly.  
“Your boots are too clean,” Jo grins, nodding at the intern’s shoes.

Somewhat stunned, Y/N looks down at her cowboy boots. Wanting to make a good impression, she polished the brown leather. Honestly, she spent more time cleaning them than she normally would before a show, but it might have been a better idea to leave them dirty. A blush warms her cheeks as she shakes her head slightly; apparently, she’s a little too eager to prove herself.

“You got me,” she admits. “You’re right, I lack experience when it comes to stable work. But I really want to learn.”  
Thankfully, Jo takes away the embarrassment and seems to appreciate her enthusiasm.  
“Don’t worry about it. We had workers who didn’t even know how to pick out a hoof, let alone ride a horse,” she reassures. “You’ll be fine. Keep your eyes and ears open, your head low and if there’s anything you need, you can always come to me.”

Slightly put to ease by her words, Y/N smiles at her shiny boots. Jo is right, she will be okay. There is no need to be nervous about tomorrow, she’s not completely oblivious after all. And with the ranch owner’s daughter as her new ally, she feels confident enough to convince herself that she will manage just fine.

A moment of quietness follows as the young blonde takes the exit and directs the pickup onto _Superstition Mountain Drive_, leaving route 60 behind them. Soft music comes from the amplifiers, a country ballad bathing them in pleasant tunes. Despite her insecurities, Y/N feels comfortable with Jo by her side, and as she glances over at her, a future image of them becoming friends forms in her head. It doesn’t seem unlikely, not at all. Her wit, her confidence, the joy that she seems to have in everything she does; she can appreciate that.

“There is one other piece of good advice I’m gonna give ya,” Jo continues after a while. “And it’s very, _very_ important that you stick to it.”  
Curious, Y/N waits for a follow-up, eager eyes on the blonde cowgirl in the driver’s seat, who waits a couple more seconds, underlining the importance of her message.  
“Do _not_, under _any_ circumstances, fall for Dean Winchester.”

A little underwhelmed, Y/N’s facial expression goes from confused to amused. She scoffs, for a second thinking she’s joking. Jo’s dramatic build-up prepared for a line she was going to remember during the tough moments while staying at the ranch, so it’s a bit of a downer when it resulted in advice on men.

“Who’s Dean Winchester?” she asks unimpressed.  
“He’s a wrangler at the ranch,” Jo enlightens her. “Also a shameless womanizer who has broken more hearts than I can count. That bastard lures gals into his bed like it’s a fucking competition. Or in the haystack, his truck, the restroom of the saloon. Whatever place he finds fit to hump somethin’.”

Y/N’s jaw drops, after which she covers her mouth to muffle her chuckle. And ten minutes ago they were talking about the weather. Well, that escalated quickly.  
“I’m serious,” Jo underlines, noticing the cynicism in her passenger’s laugh.  
“You don’t have to worry about that. That’s not what I’m here for,” she assures the ranch owner’s daughter.  
“That’s what most of them say,” she returns, having heard this before.

For a second Y/N observes her co-driver as questions start to buzz around in her head. What are Jo’s motives? Might there be something more behind what seems like just good advice?  
“Did you…? Did you ever, you know…?”  
Insecurity overwhelms her once again, disabling her to form a proper sentence. A little confused Jo looks over, but at the sight of Y/N’s raised eyebrow and a subtle smile twitching at the corner of her mouth, it suddenly dawns on her what she’s getting at.  
“What? Oh, hell no!” She shudders in disgust. “Christ! He’s my cousin!”

Y/N eyes grow large when she realizes what she just implied, but then Jo snorts and they both burst out in laughter. How this conversation went from climate and desert flora to sex and men, puzzles her completely, but she’s sure of it that in the past forty-five minutes, she gained a friend. When both of them can talk again after another convulsion of giggles, Y/N can’t help but wonder about this wrangler with a reputation.

“What’s so special about this Dean?”  
Jo wipes away tears that came running down her face in the uncontrollable laughter fit she endured. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she grins, with a sparkle in her hazel eyes.

She switches on the indicator and turns left onto a long driveway. Fenced pastures stretch out on either side, running up towards the hills. Cows are chewing their roughage at the hayracks, but look up when the headlights of the Chevrolet captures them briefly as the car passes. Up ahead a wooden sign arches over the road. _‘Gold Canyon Ranch’_, it says in bold capital letters. The pickup surfaces from underneath the sign and proceeds up the driveway, which fans out into a square. In front of a house, built up from sandstone with a red-tiled roof, Jo parks the car and turns off the ignition.

Amazed by the setting, Y/N gets out of the truck and takes it in. Several buildings, all in the same architectural style, surround the square as well. The soft and easing sounds of horses rummaging around in their stables originate from a large barn to the left of the family home. It’s like music to your ears, together with the soothing smell, although it’s sharper, more earthy, than she’s used to up in Maine. Then another sound draws her attention; the sound of a cheerful crowd and country songs. Y/N looks over the top of the Chevrolet and watches Jo walk over to a building complex at the other end of the square.

“Leave your suitcase, let’s fix us a drink first.” She hints at the saloon, from where the music is coming. “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to the bunch.”  
Y/N follows in a fast stride, forking her fingers through her hair and straightening it out quickly, then tucks her checkered blouse into her jeans, even though she just decided that she was going to leave it hanging over her belt. _This is ridiculous_, she scolds at herself. _Why are you being so nervous?_

She doesn’t have time to think about it, because when she’s about to catch up with Jo, she swings open the double doors and makes her entrance. The scent of hard work mixed with beer and nicotine welcomes her, mingling with the lingering heat of the day. The music shifts to a new song, the guitars and a strong beat sounding through the saloon. Burning stares come her way as they walk into the saloon, making her feel like she got stuck in an old spaghetti western starring Clint Eastwood. Where is that cowboy to save her now?

“Look what I found out in the rain,” Jo jokes, casually putting an arm around Y/N’s neck. “Our Yankee!”  
Cheers rise from the group of men, glad that they made it back. Half-empty beer bottles litter the wooden surface of the table they are seated at; it’s clear that the party has been going for a while now, eyes getting hazy and laughs roaring louder. It’s a good thing that Jo basically drags her into the saloon, because if she had been on her own, she would have frozen on the spot.

A middle-aged woman with chestnut brown hair steps from behind the counter to meet them halfway. With a dish-towel hanging over her shoulder, she approaches the new face, smiling genuinely.  
“Y/N, this is my mom,” Jo introduces.  
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Singer,” Y/N greets, humble, remembering her name from the email exchanges they had to arrange her internship.  
“Please, call me Ellen. Welcome. Make yourself at home, honey,” she says as her husband flanks her.  
“And this is my old man.” Jo pats him on the back, triggering a mutter.  
“I’m not _that_ old,” he states, redirecting his attention to the new guest. “I’m Bobby. Nice to meet you. Sorry ‘bout the delay.”  
“Oh, that’s alright,” Y/N smiles back at him, starting to feel more at ease.

The family seems really nice, but the group of men - which Y/N assumes is the ranch crew - still curiously lurks at her. Intimidated, she lets her eyes roam through the bar, trying not to stare. At home she had her brothers to back her up, their presence alone usually enough for guys to take a step back. But yet again she becomes painfully aware of the fact that she is on her own this time.

Her eyes glide over the workers and wranglers. At the far end of the table, a guy - who she guesses to be in his late twenties - looks back at her from under his cowboy hat. He has two poker cards in one hand and nurses a bottle of beer with the other, resting his strong forearms on the edge of the wood. Emerald green eyes seem to read her like an open book, taking her in with enough confidence in his expression to compensate for what she lacks. He puts his lips against the mouth of his beer bottle and takes a swig, slowly, without breaking eye contact. Did he really move so slow or did her mind just process that in slow-motion? Suddenly aware that she’s staring, Y/N looks away and focuses on Jo again, who has continued the introduction.

“This is Ash, one of our wranglers, and in charge of the cattle. Don’t let the hair fool ya, he’s a pretty swell guy under all the craziness.” She walks behind him, peeking into his cards. “Wow, you really just raised with a two and a three?”  
  
The guy next to Ash shoves two piles of chips forward, flashing the bluffer a big grin. Jo has settled between the two men, smirking at Ash’s annoyed face. Resting her folded arm on his shoulder, she turns her head and now puts a hand on her neighbor’s back.  
“Benny Lafitte. Best farrier in Arizona. Also, a master on the ground when it comes to starting young horses.”  
The man with a nicely trimmed beard tips his hat at Y/N, observing her with his blue eyes for a second before the ranch owner’s daughter moves on.  
  
“Over yonder is Garth. Wrangler and our man in the stables.” She nods at the fragile built guy with dark hair, who shyly looks up and greets the newcomer. “He’s harmless, great mounted shooter by the way.”

Jo straightens her back and folds her arms in front of her chest as she turns to her cousin. He doesn’t look back, though. His eyes haven’t left the new face, who forces herself to meet his gaze. After everything that Jo told her about this guy, she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of a blush on the cheeks or a flattered smile. But my God, she gets why the girls swoon by the sight of him. He has great features, a few days old scruff adding to his strong jawline. He looks like he just walked out of a Marlboro commercial, western hat and all.  
“And this is Dean,” Jo states simply, observing them both.

As Dean takes another swig of his drink, he finally tears his eyes away from Y/N. The weight that was pressing on her chest is lifted and instantly she finds it easier to breathe.  
“What? No catchy intro for me?” he asks Jo. “Now, I know it’s hard to describe a man like me in words–”  
“Oh, I already described you just fine, Winchester,” she returns impudently. “Every girl about to encounter you deserves a fair warning.”

Dean raises his eyebrows at that remark, not sure how to interpret those words. His eyes flick back to Y/N again, startling her. She must have flinched, because her reaction ignites a grin.  
“You know us now, but what’s your name?” Dean asks, even though he is already aware.  
Pushing her self-consciousness out of the way, she speaks as clear as she can, not just addressing him, but the entire crew. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you all.”

When their gazes lock again, the cowboy’s smile grows a little wider and he flashes her a short and subtle wink. It’s close to unnoticeable, had she blinked she would’ve missed it, but she caught it alright. 

“Your turn, brother,” Benny calls for his attention on the game.  
Dean glances down at his cards once more. A pair of queens; surely he’s going along with the raise, but he doesn’t want to be obvious about his good hand. He shoves two stacks of chips forward to meet the stakes and waits for his friend’s response. Translating his expressions and possible tells, the blue-eyed wrangler stares back at him while dealer Garth unfolds the final card; a queen of hearts. Benny seems to ponder, but Dean doesn’t give him an inch. 

The farrier throws in five more chips. “I raise with five hundred.”  
“One thousand,” Dean counters.  
Benny chuckles. He’s got to be bluffing, right?  
“Fine,” he agrees, adding five more to the pot as he throws down his cards on the table for his opponent to see. “A pair of Aces.”

A good hand indeed, but not good enough to win. Dean bites his lip, looks down at his cards, then back at the young woman that caught his eye. This time she’s prepared; Y/N doesn’t look away. All she does is stare back into those green eyes, standing her ground. Before it becomes obvious to the others in their company, Dean averts his gaze first. For Y/N it feels like a big win in this strange staring contest that started from the moment she walked in. The hand that Dean lays out on the table is his victory. Three of a kind just won him over three thousand chips. Interesting, how a queen of hearts in the last draw is the key to winning this game of cards.

“Well, shit!” Benny laughs, leaning back in his seat and admitting his defeat. “Guess the next round’s on me then.”  
“Let me pour you a drink, sweety,” Ellen suggests, bumping her shoulder into Y/N lightly. “You can use one after all that traveling.”

An exhale falls from her lips as she joins the ranch owner’s wife at the bar. Ellen isn’t wrong. Boy, she needs a drink, but not because of the long flight. The attention from Dean, him looking at her like he did, it’s unlike a man any attention she has ever received. It felt exciting and suffocating at the same time. Unable to truly understand what she is experiencing right now, Y/N thinks about what Jo said. The words she spoke in the car are starting to make sense now. The way this man had a grip on her from the moment she laid eyes on him, throws her off. He shouldn’t be having that effect on her, she’s not that kind of girl, after all. She’s the kind that keeps her eye on the ball and doesn’t let anything distract her. And if a guy would try? She would give them a run for their money. With three brothers Y/N learned to stand her ground to be able to compete with her siblings. She developed a smart mouth and isn’t easily intimidated by men. But somehow all the lessons learned flew right out the window the moment Dean Winchester laid eyes on her.

“What are you having?”   
The one person who got her drowning in her thoughts settles on a stool on her right. She glances aside at Dean, who has a gentle smile on his face.  
“A beer would be great.” She turns to Ellen, who is waiting by the fridge for an answer.  
Dean puts up two fingers as he makes contact with his aunt behind the counter, signaling her to double it. Skilfully, she flips the caps off the bottles and hands them over.  
“Here ye go. On the house,” she insists, her expression gentle.  
“Thank you,” Y/N returns gratefully with a slight nod of the head.

As Ellen Singer leaves to join her husband, Y/N is forced to deal with the guy in the seat next to her. Conflicting emotions battle each other inside her chaotic mind. Working on this ranch is going to show her Dad that she can build a company worth his investment. It will teach her everything she needs to know about ranch work. She made an agreement with herself, that she is going to use every second of her time to learn. Wasting time fooling around with one of the wranglers does not fit in her time schedule and it certainly isn’t going to deliver the message that she’s taking this internship seriously. But she cannot deny, a part of her is curious about this cowboy. He ignited a downright confusing interest, all that with a few lingering stares and a couple of words.

When she glances aside at the handsome man, elbows on the bar while holding her beer loosely by its neck, Jo moves into her peripheral vision. With a stack of plates in her hands, she enters the area behind the counter and continues to the kitchen, but not before shooting her new friend a glare that asks her what the hell she’s doing and tells her to stop it right now. Jo’s good advice fights its way to the surface and Y/N’s common sense takes over again. Dean didn’t take a seat because he likes her, he took that seat because he wants to get laid tonight.

“So–” he starts off.  
“Just let me get one thing straight,” Y/N interrupts, “I’m here to learn about the ranch management, not to entertain you during lonely moments. You might be able to wind any other girl around your finger, but not me, so forget it.”  
It’s out there before she’s able to stop herself. She doesn’t fully understand where the words came from and how she managed to gather the courage to speak up, but the harsh message is out, hovering between them and throwing Dean off his game. Jo - who spied on them from around the corner - seems impressed and smirks amused, before disappearing again. 

She’s not the only one who is left stunned. Dean has raised his eyebrows and needs a moment to recover.  
“In my defense, I was gonna ask you if you were looking forward to your first day tomorrow,” he says with a chuckle, rubbing his chin.  
“I like to set boundaries,” she states, taking a swig of her beer.  
“Apparently.” Dean clears his throat, collecting himself. “Good thing I like to break them.”

Dean has turned towards her now, his hand holding the beer resting on the counter. He’s not hiding that her attempt to play hardball actually intrigues him more.  
“It wouldn’t really be breaking boundaries if I’m just a number on the long list of girls you picked up. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day and tomorrow probably isn’t going to be much shorter, so I’m going to get some sleep.”

With those words, she knocks back the last of the beer and leaves the bottle next to Dean’s. Before he can stop her, she hops off the barstool.  
“I’ll show you the way,” Jo offers, surfacing from the backroom again.  
With a suppressed grin on her lips, she passes Dean, who watches the two girls walk away from him, flabbergasted.

It’s then when the puzzle pieces fall in place. That little bitch, Jo just cockblocked him! He bets his lovely cousin told all about his intermezzos with some of the women that have passed through these doors. She just ruined a perfectly good chance to get together with the new girl. 

Without giving him one more second of her time, Y/N starts to walk towards the exit of the saloon, followed by Jo. “G’night, everyone.”  
They all reply, either with words or by waving, all but Dean. He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, turning on the stool to meet his beer again. It doesn’t happen very often, but his pride took quite a punch there. When he looked at the woman that had him do a double-take when she walked through those doors, he could have sworn he saw her react to him.  
_ Maybe you’re getting sloppy_, he thinks to himself. _Maybe you’re getting too old for this shit. _

No, that can’t be it. Just because he’s heading towards those dreadful thirties, doesn’t mean he has to change the way he plays this game. Benny is half a decade older than him, he still lives like a bachelor, and will probably do so for the rest of his days. The intern probably has some history that causes her to act this way, a backpack full of misery; not something he wants to deal with anyway. _Too complicated_, at least that what he’s tries to convince himself of.

“Hey, amigo? What’s that on your face?”  
Ash looks over at the bar, observing the man who just got rejected. He shuffles the cards for the last game of the night.  
“Oh, I see it too,” Garth acknowledges, pretending to be shocked by the sight. “That doesn’t look so good.”  
Dean feels his cheek and casts a confused gaze at his friends as Benny starts to snigger.  
“That’s one ugly lookin’ red handprint that’s swelling up, man,” Ash continues.

Garth giggles, his laughter coming out in a high pitched sniggering sound. By now Dean gets what’s going on and rolls his eyes. Who needs enemies when you have friends like these assholes.  
“That’s gotta hurt, chief. Want me to get some ice for that?” Benny adds, sparkles in his bright blue eyes.  
“Y’all can kiss my go-to-hell,” Dean mutters, not amused by the embarrassment.

Now all three burst out in laughter and even Bobby can’t help but join in a full belly laugh. After the fun, Benny gets up from his chair and walks over to fill the empty spot beside him.  
“I think this is a good thing,” he comments, his accent as gentle as Southern comfort. “It keeps you sharp, a gal like that.”  
“She’s quite somethin’, isn’t she?” Dean smiles at his drink.  
“She ain’t easy, that’s for sure,” he agrees. “Good thing she ain’t the only lady friend in town.”

Benny redirects Dean’s eyes to a beautiful dark-haired woman at the pool table. Casey is a guest that enjoys her time at the ranch every holiday, especially since most of that time is spent with Dean. She must have arrived just now, because he didn’t notice her earlier. Or was that because his eyes and mind were too occupied by someone else? It doesn’t matter, because when Casey makes eye contact before pocketing the striped number thirteen, the sexual tension between them that is already stirring up. He might not spend the night between the sheets with Y/N, but he’ll be satisfied by the end of the night either way.


	3. First Day On The Job

Before the alarm even has the chance to awaken Y/N from her restless sleep, she turns it off and rises from her bed. As she hops off the small mattress, she hits her head against the top bunk and lets out a groan. _Wonderful_, she thinks to herself as she rubs her head and grids her teeth, _just what I need at 5.30 in the morning._   
  
She flicks on the light, which stings her eyes the moment the rays hit them. For a second she glances around the ten-by-six room, of which most of the space is occupied by the two-story bed and a closet. Oh well, at least she has the room to herself. She would feel even more claustrophobic in the small space that she can call hers for the next six months. 

By taking in a deep breath, she tries to calm herself down. Today is the first line of a new chapter in her life, the chapter in which she will prove to the world that she is not just some stuck up rich kid from upstate who is offered all life’s best opportunities by her parents. She does get everything she wants, alright, because she works hard for it. She has worked hard for her degree, she has worked hard to become a pro reining rider. And now she will work hard shoveling horse shit. Y/N isn’t a simpleton; she saw how interns were treated at the livery stable where she boarded her horse, back in Freeport. They tend to end up with all the chores nobody else wants to do; the dirty jobs. Come to think of it, she might have used an intern to clean up her mess every now and then, and boy, does she regret it now. If karma exists, today it will bite her in the ass. 

With a sigh, she gets up, grabs a towel, her shampoo and makeup bag, and quietly heads for the shower without waking anyone. The warm water falling on her skin does not only cleanse her body from a damp and restless night, but also her mind. The intern expects today to be dreadful, but she needs to stop being so negative. _  
  
Maybe you will get to go on a trail today, that would be fun_, she reassures herself under the spray. _You’ve got Jo to back you up, you will be fine.  
  
You. Will. Be. Fine.  
  
_ Nevertheless, nerves tighten knots in her stomach again, as it did when she stepped into the saloon last night. _What if I won’t be fine? What if the workload is too heavy, what if I’m not cut out for this job?  
  
_Getting tired of her own brooding, she washes out the conditioner and turns off the shower. After drying her hair, she wraps the towel around her chest and secures it by tucking one hem behind the other, then starts on her makeup. 

This is her daily routine, no matter how early she needs to get up for it. Confidence is not her strong suit and looking as good as she can, gives her just enough boost to get by, especially on nerve-wracking days like these. After fixing her eyelashes with mascara, she hears a door creak open in the hallway; sounds like the rest of the crew is waking up too. After tightening the towel, making sure that it’s not coming off on her stroll back to her room, she opens the bathroom door. A young woman with dark wavy hair throws an old coffee filter in the trash. All she’s wearing is an oversized plaid shirt that reaches over her thighs.   
“G’morning,” the brunette greets friendly.  
“Hi,” she returns, somewhat hesitant, then extends her hand towards her as she takes a step in her direction in order to introduce herself. "I'm Y/N."  
“Casey,” the natural beauty replies, shaking her hand.  
  
Last night, she was there in the saloon, but Jo didn’t introduce them. Y/N assumed she was a guest, but now that she finds her here in the bunkhouse, she figures Casey must be personnel.   
While pouring herself a cup, she looks up at Y/N. “You want a cup of coffee?”   
“Yes, please,” Y/N obliges, appreciating a mug full of warm brew to help her wake up. "I'll throw on some clothes first."

As Y/N turns around to retreat back to her room to get dressed, the door closest to the kitchen area opens. When she sees the man at the door, her jaw drops and she swears to God that her heart beats twice as fast from the moment her eyes capture the person in the doorway. It’s Dean, but wearing distinctively less clothing. His worn-down jeans are the only thing he’s wearing, hanging from his hips, only held by a leather belt with a silver inlaid buckle. Y/N’s eyes glide up, noticing the happy trail running up his abdomen. _My oh my, _is that body a nice one. Proportioned, toned, and tanned from years of ranch work under the Arizona sun. Broad shoulders, strong arms. In her mind, it feels like she has been taking him in for at least a minute, but thankfully she only needs a split second to snap out of it, not wanting to get caught staring again. It’s only then when she realizes that she herself is draped in nothing more than a towel, exposing almost as much skin as he is. There it is, the first moment of the day when she wishes to be invisible.  
  
“Morning, Yankee,” he greets, his voice still raspy from sleep.  
“M-morning,” she manages to mutter.  
She then points at her room awkwardly, pressing the towel against her chest, after which she stammers something unintelligible and turns to self-consciously walk back to safety. His eyes burn in her back, and when she turns towards him as she closes the door, a suppressed smile that expresses both amusement and appreciation adorns his handsome face. Y/N only breathes out again when the door falls in the lock behind her. _God, could you be more embarrassing? __Good job on not making a total fool of yourself!   
  
_ She takes a deep breath and runs both her hands through her hair, trying to push the moment to the back of her mind, then drops the towel and quickly hoists herself in underwear, and after that a pair of dark jeans. _Get yourself together, Y/N. Sure, he looks incredibly hot, but he is not the first good looking guy you’ve come across. He shouldn’t have this effect on you, Jo warned you about him, for crying out loud!_   
  
Lecturing herself, she puts on her bra and a denim blouse, after which she steps in her boots. The shine has worn off, since she kicked through the dirt on her way to the bunkhouse last night, making them a little less conspicuous. Quickly, she blow-dries her hair, straightens it out with an ironer, and glances at the reflection in the small mirror. A nervous and insecure little girl stares back, the image having her sigh deeply and close her eyes on herself. On the corner of the bedpost, her custom-fitted Milano western hat waits. She brought two hats to Arizona, one being a navy blue Stetson that she has had for ages, the other is the black Milano, which her grandfather gave her before debuting at the State Championships. Ever since that win, it has become her lucky hat. She picks it up by the crown, moves it over her head, and then pushes it down on her hair, pulling the front dip down a little deeper over her eyes. There, much better. _Just walk out there, pretend nothing happened. You’ve got this.   
  
_ After another deep breath to ground herself, she exits her room and joins the others in the living area. Jo, Benny, and Garth are there too, trying to wake themselves with some caffeine. Dean has settled on the leather couch, also sipping his coffee. He’s fully dressed now, thankfully. She’s not sure if she could have looked in his direction if he wasn’t.

“Hey! Slept well?” Jo wonders, pushing a coffee filled mug in her direction.  
“Yeah, fine,” Y/N answers, forcing a smile.  
Not at all, but no need for them to know. A quick glance at the clock above the stove tells her it’s 6.20; only ten minutes until this dreadfully slow day is going to start.  
“Is Ash up yet?” Dean checks with the rest.  
“What do you think?” Jo returns snarky.  
With a grunt Dean gets up, walks over to the door next to her and bangs on it loudly. “Ash!”   
A loud snore comes from behind the closed door, followed by nervous rummaging. “I’m up!” 

With a chuckle, Dean returns to the living room, where Casey stood up from the chair. Wearing the same clothes as she did last night, she walks up to him.  
“I’m heading off. Breakfast with the girls,” she announces, after which she leaves a kiss on his lips. He answers her and closes his eyes as he does, stalling the motion for a second longer. Then they part and he smiles down on the gorgeous girl.  
“See you in the saloon tonight?” Dean checks.  
“You betcha,” Casey replies, staring him down flirtatiously, before she exits the bunkhouse.  
  
The wrangler pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, grinning content as he settles on the couch again. All this time Y/N has watched him, a bit perplexed by what just happened. Suddenly it makes sense why Jo didn’t introduce her to Casey; she’s a guest who just happened to have spent the night here, with Dean. When she directs her focus to Jo, the blonde cowgirl mouths _‘told ya?’ _triumphantly. Chuckling, Y/N shakes her head. Jo was right, and boy is she glad that she told him to find his booty call elsewhere. 

In the meantime, Ash has joined them and five minutes before their shift starts, the group of wranglers and workers head out. The moment Y/N steps outside, the heat that lingered despite the night hits her. Dear lord, she hasn’t lifted a finger yet and she’s already sweating. Before she can complain out loud, the intern looks up, instantly captivated by the landscape. Last night the veil of darkness didn’t allow the scenery to be appreciated, but now that the sun steadily rises in the east, warding off the clouds that float at the horizon above the Superstition Mountains, she is fully aware of its beauty. Bright rays of orange and yellow spread their light over their surroundings, draping all that’s in the sun’s reach with gold. Cows and their calves impatiently wait in their large stretched out pastures by the fence, moohing, eager for new hay. The dirt with a speck of red in it crunches under their boots as the smell of the country fills her nostrils.

Suddenly the intern’s first day at the ranch seems a little less intimidating. She can’t wait to be around horses again, to hear them rustle their noses through their roughage and hear them neigh the moment the stable doors open. The way their presence triggers every sense of her to take in as much as she can possibly absorb, purely to enjoy the bliss feeling of belonging. In a year’s time, only a few days passed without spending at least some hours around these majestic animals. Christmas was one of those moments, yesterday was one too. One day without them and she already craves for their touch, their interaction, their companionship. Something called homesickness. Not for Maine, not for her friends and family, but for horses. Home is where the heart is. There’s a lot of truth in those words.

“So, what is today going to be like?” she wonders eagerly, after catching up with Jo.  
“We start with feeding, turning the horses out, and mucking stables. Dean and I usually ride a couple of horses before breakfast at 8.30. After breakfast, we tack up for the trail rides with the tourists. A few wranglers go out with them, others stay behind to groundwork horses, clean tack, stuff like that. Lunch at 12.00, depending on the heat we take a break and get back to work at 2 PM,” the ranch owner’s daughter fills in.  
Y/N tries to memorize the schedule as well as she can. Her description of the day helps, though. It offers a grip on the situation, calming the nerves.  
“The afternoon is different every day. Sometimes we have extra trails, the vet might come in, or clients for the horses that need to be sold. When it’s quiet the workers do maintenance on the property while we train more horses. We feed the animals round at 6.30, dinner is served at 7. Final feeding round at 10.”

The humid air was already pressing heavily on Y/N. Getting through the day without passing out, is definitely going to be a challenge. Despite those circumstances, she catches herself looking forward to this day, something that she couldn’t imagine last night when she retired to bed. She directs her attention to the group again, when some of the workers fan out, heading for the hay barn next to the stables. Within seconds she hears the tractor start and watches Ash roll out the big old machine that pumps black puffs from the exhaust with every strike of the engine. A trailer loaded with hay bales is attached to the rusty tractor, carrying Benny as well, who found a comfortable spot in the back.   
  
“Keep up, Yankee!” Jo looks over her shoulder, waiting for Y/N to step to it.  
Quickly she follows the cowgirl, who on her turn is right behind Dean and Garth.   
Seems like they aren’t the only ones who got up early to get work done, because Bobby is already pushing the feed cart through the hallway between two rows of stalls, scooping pellets into the horses’ feeders through the bars. Some impatiently kick against the wood in an attempt to rush the old ranch owner, but he’s not in a hurry. Instead, he mutters something to the grey in the left row that is making a fuss.  
  
“Mornin’, y’all,” Bobby greets them, somewhat grumpy.  
“G’morning. What are we up for?” Dean consults with his boss.  
“Two rides. A slow ride in the morning and a mountain hack in the afternoon,” Bobby fills in, closing the lid of the bucket half full of oats, then turns to his new intern.   
“What time does your horse arrive?” he asks.  
“Around 2 PM, the driver would let me know if he would run late, but I haven’t heard anything so far,” Y/N notifies.  
“The first box on the right is unoccupied. It’s yours for the next six months, but I expect you to work for it,” he says, an encouraging sternness in his voice.  
“I will, Mr. Singer,” she assures him.  
  
“Alright,” Dean interrupts. “Y/N, you’re with me.”  
The authoritative way he speaks unsettles her a little, but she tries her best to hide it. She’s on his hip from the moment he starts walking through the barn, showing her around.  
“Tack room is on the right. Wash the bits clean before you hang the bridles away and always fold a cover over the saddle. Put back everything where you found it, otherwise Garth will rip you a new one, he likes the place neat. The cafeteria is over here, we all gather here for breakfast and lunch. Same deal, keep it clean. The coffee sucks, but it will wake you up in the morning.”  
  
Dean gives her a short moment to glance inside the small yet comfy hangout, which contains a wooden picnic table for ten, and a small kitchenette. Her eyes glide over the numerous photos on the wall of show horses, the ranch from a birds-view, and many other images, together with won belt buckles, ribbons, and a messenger board.  
“You’ll find the schedule of the day on there, also important phone numbers, to-do lists, memos, you name it. Check it every morning before you start and every evening before you leave. If a horse loses a shoe or needs special care, write it on the board,” he tells her, after which he retreats back to the hallway.

His flirtatious manors have disappeared after she flipped him off last night, just the way she wanted at that moment. But now that he has this coldness over him on the work-floor, Y/N isn’t so sure if this is what she was after. Is he a sore loser? Is that the reason why he’s so reserved all of a sudden? Or is he keeping personal and business separate? Confused, she follows him as the wrangler heads for the horse boxes.  
“These are all training horses, some owned by us, some by clients. They are turned out in small groups, except for the stallions, which are turned out alone in the high fenced paddocks. Learn their names and description quickly, we can’t have a mare in a pasture with a stallion, and believe me, you wouldn’t be the first to do such a thing.”

On the other side of the barn, he lifts the heavy bar out of the hinge in order to open the tall doors. Behind them lays several acres of land, split up in pastures and paddocks, their gateways surrounding the outdoor tack up area in a U-shape. In the center, a Joshua tree reaches up to a clear sky. The old specimen must have been here for a while, since it has grown to a stunning height of at least thirty feet, offering shade to whoever needs it. To the right, a round pen is situated together with a large outdoor training arena. The yucca tree as well as the wooden fencing, are illuminated by the warm rays from the rising sun. Y/N tips her hat forward to protect her eyes from the brightness, enjoying the view. It’s a gorgeous sight and she wonders how long it has been like this. The tree almost seems sacred in this setting, an old soul that has been watching over these lands for decades, maybe even centuries. In the far distance, a herd grazes on the slopes leading up to the Superstition Mountains.   
  
“Those are our trail horses. We’ve got about twenty of them. They stay out in the fields twenty-four seven and only come in for rides,” Dean tells her, after which he goes on with the tour, pointing out each while naming them in a rush. “Stallion paddocks, pastures, round pen, arena.”

He heads back inside, expecting the intern to be right on his heels, but she hesitates, still absorbing the information. For a split second he observes, because she isn’t the only one who is taken aback by the view. Her silky hair falls down from under her western hat, the profile of her nose, lips, and chin outlined by the morning sun. The place mesmerizes her, just like it did when he first saw it. In fact, one of the first memories he can recall is sprinting through the barn towards the sunrise, his mom requesting with a gentle voice not to run, because it might spook the horses. He listened and halted in the large door frame, gazing at the enormous tree in front of him. He couldn’t have been more than four years old. Pushing the memory away, Dean lifts his gaze back at his intern and gets back to business.  
“C’mon, we ain’t got all day!”  
  
Y/N snaps out of it and approaches him, clearly not at ease and he regrets striking such a tone instantly. He can’t help it, though. Of course, he needs to be tough on the rookies, he has to if he wants to determine if they are right for the job or not. Ranch life is hard work, not to mention that they are handling horses and cattle weighing a thousand pounds each. A small error can have huge consequences, and since she’s under his supervision, he wants to prevent mistakes at all costs. But is it just that? If he’s honest with himself, is he really being an ass because he’s the boss? Or does he have to admit that he’s still slightly annoyed by the fact that his ego got damaged by this fierce new face? Normally he would shake off a rejection - not that he had many - yet _she_ brought out of balance. Why is that? He gave it some thought, especially the way she responded to him right after she entered the saloon. Those lingering stares they exchanged, the way she got all flustered when he surprised her with his eyes. It didn’t go unnoticed, so the harsh ‘no’ when he went over for a chat still feels like a slap in the face. Somehow, it didn’t add up, because he could have sworn he felt a connection. It occupied his mind to a degree that he was still thinking about the woman who shot him down while having sex with Casey. 

Forcing himself to get a grip, he continues to walk down the alley between the stables, footsteps echoing under the high ceiling. Jo and Garth already started preparing the horses for their free time outdoors, strapping protective boots to their legs. Bobby’s daughter takes a bay quarter horse out of his box after which she opens the stable door for a beautiful palomino as well and leads the two horses outside. Iron horseshoes click on the paved grounds rhythmically, soothing like a metronome.  
“Each horse has its own halter. Some wear leg protection, which you can find in these bags,” Dean continues, taking a pair of overreach boots out of a canvas bag hanging from the stable door, along with a halter.   
  
He opens the stall without making eye contact with his intern, focusing on the horse that curiously comes closer to meet him. Uncomfortable, Y/N waits for his next instruction by the door. Should she speak up? This time she reconsiders her words carefully, but she cannot stand the tension that is hanging in the already humid air.  
“Dean, about last night…”  
Her voice is so hesitant that it triggers the wrangler to turn and face the young woman, his expression shifting from annoyed to something much more gentle. In comparison to the deliverance of her message yesterday, she seems timid now.   
“I know I was a little… blunt, when I told you to go find your luck elsewhere. The thing is, that I really need to focus on this job and on my placement here, do the best I can. I don’t want to mess this up or get sent home early. I can’t afford distraction,” she explains, trying to smoothen things out.  
  
Observant Dean returns her gaze while he gently pulls the halter over the horse’s ears, securing the snap of the throat lash to cheekpiece. He doesn’t mean to, but a small smirk fights it’s way up to the surface. He’s got to say, he respects her for keeping her eyes on the ball. Bobby was right; she is a go-getter.  
“Where is this coming from?” he wonders, voice much softer than it has been all morning.  
“Well, I kind of had the feeling you are giving me the cold shoulder,” she confesses, uneasy.

Again silence, this one at least as awkward as the previous one. How many hours ago have they met each other? Not even ten? And yet, despite being a little insecure about it now, she seems to be able to express herself quite well. It’s an aspect that stands out, one that Dean likes. She doesn’t beat around the bush, that’s for sure.  
“You might have a point,” the wrangler admits. “But I need to be tough on the interns. It ain’t a cashier job at Walmart, this line of work can get dangerous. Do understand that I’m your supervisor and that it’s my responsibility that you--”  
_ Whoa whoa whoa_, stop it right there. Rewind and play again. He’s her _what _now?  
  
“You’re my supervisor?” she repeats in shock.  
Dean nods, confused. “Yeah, didn’t Bobby and Ellen tell you that?”  
She shakes her head and buries her face in her hands as the embarrassment washes over her like a tidal wave. She cannot believe she wasn’t aware of this!  
“N-no, they didn't…” Y/N stammers. First, they forget her at the airport and now this?_ God, this place has communication issues!   
_ “I’m so sorry. What I said, that was just downright disrespectful,” she apologizes, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.  
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, shrugging it off. “Can you get Argo? He’s in the box next door.”

She nods, not entirely at ease just yet. Nevertheless, she steps to it, takes the halter and splint boots, and enters the stable to the right. Not being in the same box offers time and space to revise strategies, because she doesn't feel like the conversation has come to a solid end. Good grief, she feels like such an idiot. For someone who takes the job seriously, it was a pretty dumb move to talk back to the one person who is going to be her guide and mentor during this placement. He barely said a word before she treated him so rudely! He came up to ask if she was looking forward to her first day, for crying out loud! She has got to say something, anything to make it right. Before she can continue, though, the wrangler beats her to it.   
“Look, I might have come on a little strong. I didn’t mean to put you in a compromising position. If I did--”   
“No, it’s fine,” Y/N insists. “I think last night went down a little different than we both anticipated.”

The wrangler keeps a hold of her gaze for a second and then nods, deciding to settle with that. She’s right; they both could have handled the situation differently. It’s good that they cleared the air, though. He usually enjoys bossing rookies around, but with her, he’d rather take a more gentle approach.  
“I’m gonna take you thinking I’m a distraction as a compliment, then,” he comments jokingly.  
Y/N looks up from her work as she puts the halter on the chestnut, chuckling lightly. Dean smiles at her response, her little laugh lifting the weight off his chest. Their eyes lock as they observe each other through the bars separating them, both very well aware of the slightly different vibe in the air. Dean - who was left somewhat disoriented after her decline - seems to have found his footing again. She can see it in the small crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, in the dimples of his cheeks when he smiles. Damn, that smile. And there it is again, that sparkle. A shimmer in his eyes, like holding a beautifully cut emerald gemstone against the light.  
  
“I was _warned_ that you can be very distracting,” she returns, correcting him.  
Jo walks past to fetch more horses to turn out, glaring at the pair as she passes by. Dean catches her ‘what the hell are you up to?’ stare, which he replies to by raising his eyebrows and intensifying his trademark smile.  
“Let me guess. Jo told you all about how I spend my evenings?” he replies to her comment, almost a whisper to prevent his cousin from listening in.  
“And your lunch breaks,” Y/N adds, well aware of the value of the intel.  
He cringes at that, then chuckles, busted, as he clasps the lead rope to the halter, after which he bends down to strap the overreach boots to the lower leg just above the hoof. He never thought the day would come, but his experience with women isn’t exactly working in his favor right now. Is he keeping his hands busy trying to hide the embarrassment?   
“Seems like I’ve built myself quite the reputation,” the cowboy concludes.

She watches him through the barred wall, considering if she should say something. After all, she doesn’t want him to feel ashamed. What he does in his own time is none of her business. So what that he sleeps around? That doesn’t make him a bad person. Why should she even care? And yet, she can’t deny that when Casey kissed him back at the bunkhouse, jealousy tucked at her heart.   
  
“No, you haven’t,” she reassures, trying to take away his embarrassment while pushing down her own thoughts. “I promise I won’t jump to conclusions anymore, okay?”  
“Alright,” Dean agrees to that. “And you’ve got my word that I won’t treat you differently from now on. Despite that you were busting my balls yesterday.”   
Finally at ease, she smiles, glad that they both find the memory amusing now. When she looks up at him again, the curved line of his lips evens out a little.   
“Despite that - and please don’t take this the wrong way,” he adds on a more serious note, the short pause hanging between them, the moment intensified by his kind eyes, “I believe that you’re somethin’ special.”

Surprised by his words, Y/N stares back at him. It’s not a joke, is it? Nor is it innocent flirting. She barely knows the guy, but she can tell he’s being sincere. Unlike yesterday, Y/N accepts the compliment, because this time she truly believes it’s not just a way to seduce her and lure her to his bed. He means it, and something tells her that he hasn’t said something like that to many girls before. That’s what she wants to believe, at least.  
  
The flustered smile that his words ignites should give him even more confidence than he already possesses, but it does the opposite. With any other girl his eyes would remain fixed, letting his gaze do the talking for him. He would have let his content smile grow larger, he would keep his head up, stand straight with his shoulders back, not a speck of insecurity to be noticed. But not with her. With her, he averts his attention to the horse next to him, gently running his hand through the gelding’s mane, unable to keep his posture. Why does he do that? He was doing just fine the first time they locked eyes last night. Hell, he stared for so long, that she didn’t know what to do with herself.  
  
He was in control, until he settled down on that barstool next to the cowgirl.  
Until she told him ‘no’. Until she took the reins. 


	4. Home Is Where The Heart Is

“You haven't mucked many stables in your life, have ya?”

Panting, Y/N stops with what she’s doing, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. After turning out all the animals, Dean and Jo started training the horses, while she was assigned to assist Garth to muck out the twenty stables. The air might have cooled between the head wrangler and herself, he did not lie when he said that he was not going to treat her differently than any other intern. As she anticipated, she landed a dirty job, quite literally.   
  
Out of breath, she turns to face Garth in the doorway, who is leaning on a pitchfork. He has his eyebrows raised, but his smile is gentle. With her pitchfork still stuck in the mixture of sawdust and manure, she chuckles nervously. Is it that obvious that she has absolutely no idea what she is doing? The stable boy has got her figured out, but she is not entirely ready to admit it yet. In another attempt to lift the heavy clunk off the concrete, she’s able to pull it up a few inches, but then she has to admit her defeat; it’s just too heavy.  
“Guilty,” she sighs.

“Here, let me help,” Garth offers. “What you basically do with each stable, is quickly scoop the clean shavings in one corner and only take out what’s dirty. Don't bite off more than you can chew, alright? If you try to clean out the stable in one haul, you’ll ruin your back. Make sure the wheelbarrow is already pointing into the direction of the shitpit, so that you don't have to turn it when it's full.”  
“The shitpit? Really?” Y/N grins, assuming he meant the muck heap.  
“It has a nice ring to it,” the guy returns, sniggering over his own choice of words.   
He demonstrates quickly, moving the clean shavings aside and picking up the darkened wooden fibers with his pitchfork, hurling it into the wheelbarrow swiftly.  
“Don't be too neat about it, the ponies are gonna drop their chocolate muffins the moment they step back in. Make sure most of it is out,” Garth scoops up the last droppings, then twists the handle and pulls the clean shavings back to the center of the stall, “then even out what's left and if necessary add a little more shavings.”

The tactic helps, and Y/N cleans out the next stable a lot faster than she did the previous one. Yet she can't keep up with Garth, who finishes his row when she has barely reached the fifth box. Already she feels exhausted. Aching shoulders, a sore back, and already blisters start to develop on her hands during the very first hour of hard labor. On top of all that, she is so hungry that she can hear her stomach growl above the sound of Ryan Bingham’s ‘_Sunshine’ _blasting from the radio. Breakfast sure sounds good by now.   
  
Twenty minutes past eight she finishes her final stable while the slender stable boy is sweeping the hallway. He is done by the time she returns with an empty wheelbarrow, which she turns over against the wall next to the other. Jo and Dean return from the arena, cooling the horses down by walking circles around the Joshua tree. For a second, Y/N watches the head wrangler on the beautiful buckskin with black manes and a shiny, golden coat. Her breath is stolen from her for a short second.

_ Holy mother of God;_ _ he looks good on a horse.  
  
_ Even though the American Quarter is only walking, she can tell he’s a good rider. The way he comfortably adjusts his balance with the movements of the animal under him, the end of the reins loosely between his fingers and his free hand rests on his upper leg as he talks to Jo; riding comes naturally. It is like breathing to him, he doesn't even have to think about it. Jo seems at home in her beautifully hand-crafted saddle as well.   
  
“I don't know about y’all, but I could eat.”  
Benny leans against the large doorway, lifts his hat and wipes the sweat from his brow with his forearm, then puts it back on. He picks a pack of Lucky Strike from his back pocket, as well as his zippo, and lights a smoke. He generously smiles at Y/N after taking a drag, and for a second she senses that Dean isn’t the only one who is interested in the fresh face. Well, fresh? Not so much after mucking out stalls in eighty-seven degrees, but then again, neither is the farrier. His shirt is drenched, dark stains on the center of his chest. A little insecure about his intentions, she smiles back sheepishly, after which Benny thankfully shifts his attention to the riders.  
  
“Still comfortable up there, Chief? Get your lazy ass off that horse, us workin’ men gotta still our hunger,” he nags.  
Dean chuckles, amused by the harmless bantering of his best friend. “Somebody has to do the ridin’ and keep the horse beneath,” he counters, as he swings his right leg over the back of the horse and lowers himself to the ground.  
"One time, brother,” the Southerling sighs, shaking his head. “One time you saw me fall off that bronc and you still hold that against me? That was six years ago!”

Y/N looks from Benny to Dean, who has tied his buckskin to the pole under the Joshua tree and now loosens the cinch of the saddle. The intern takes her cue and walks over to help, partly trying to make up for the attitude she gave him the night before, but also to impress him with her eagerness. The head wrangler grins at her over the back of his horse as his friend continues to argue over what’s true and what's exaggerated about the event that his friend just brought up. Y/N can’t hide her smile either; she would like to see where this is heading.   
  
“Oh, you didn't just fall off that bronc. That was the biggest face plant in the history of the State of Arizona,” Dean corrects, slightly overdoing it to the amusement of the others.  
“C’mon now, it wasn't like that,” Benny responds.  
Dean opens the faucet and starts to hose down the Quarter, washing the dirt and sweat out of its golden coat. In the meantime Y/N takes off the bridle and replaces it with a leather halter, trying not to snigger.  
“Benny, be fair. There's still a dent in the arena footing where you touched down with that brick head of yours,” Jo chips in.  
Y/N snorts and Dean breaks out in full-body laughter, only fueled by the stunned expression of the farrier, the cigarette still hanging from his parted lips. He doesn't have a counter ready.  
“I ain’t talkin’ to you folks no more,” he mutters eventually, after which he saunters away, mumbling something unintelligible.

Dean smirks, and eyes the intern again over the arch of the buckskin’s back, running his hand through the horse's wet mane, after which he gives the stallion a pat on the shoulder. He's trying to suppress the trace of victory before the others notice. What was this whole little challenge with his friend about? Truly just his colleague’s legendary fall? Dean saw how his pal smiled at Y/N and felt his gut twist and turn at the sight. He_ knows _ Benny, he_ knows _that grin. And although she obviously belongs to nobody and the two men usually don't mind when one gives it a go with the girl who the other is chasing, Dean felt the need to claim her. When the farrier mocked him on making slow time, he instantly took that opportunity to put him back in his place. He wonders if Benny picked up on his reasoning, and what if_ she _did? The cowboy tries to read her as he lifts the heavy saddle off the pole.  
  
“Wanna bring him back to his stable?” he asks with a gentle voice. “Led is in the second on the left.”  
“Sure.” She smiles, glad to get the responsibility of one of his horses. But then she realizes something. Led? Who calls his horse Led? Unless…  
“Led, as in ‘Led Zeppelin’?” she wonders, as she unties the beautiful stallion.  
Surprised Dean frowns at her and looks over his shoulder. “You know this horse?”  
She scoffs. “No, but I know the band.” 

Feeling the cowboy's eyes on her, she can tell that he’s impressed, and instantly the heat rushes to her cheeks. _  
Why are you feeling so flushed every time he directs his gaze to you? _ She wonders. _You're that confident girl who gave him a run for his money last night. Where did she go? _   
But something about his ways leaves her a doubtful mess inside.  
  
“You know Led Zeppelin?” Dean appeared again, resting his strong forearms on the stable door. Apparently he stored away the saddle in the tack room and made it back in record time. She piqued his interest earlier, but now he just can’t help himself.   
“I’m familiar with their music, yeah,” she admits, undoing Led from his halter, after which she intends to exit the box.  
“Prove it,” he challenges, holding the door for her. “First song of the second album.”  
“_Whole Lotta Love,_” she recalls without blinking, confidence returning now that he started on a subject she’s an expert on.  
“Name of the fifth album.”  
She grins as the two of them start making their way, joined by Jo and Garth, who helped her tack down the grey she was riding.  
“_Houses of the Holy,_” she answers.  
He laughs. “Well, I’ll be damned. Where have you been hiding all my life?”

She can’t stop herself from chuckling as she looks down, catching Jo’s eye roll as she does. It's clear the blonde cowgirl is not impressed with her cousin’s smooth talk and it brings Y/N back to earth. Yes, she gives Dean the benefit of the doubt, but Jo warned her for a reason. _  
This is his usual M.O, he tells this to all the girls, _ the convincing voice in her mind tells her. _ There is nothing special about you_.  
  
“What’s your favorite Led Zep song?” Dean wonders.  
“Right now at this very moment?” She steals a playful glance at him from under her Milano hat. “It would be a tie between _What Is And What Should Never Be _ and _ Ramble On.” _

Dean opens his mouth to respond as he pushes open the heavy door to the small cafeteria, but then the titles dawn on him. The double meaning behind her peculiar choice of songs doesn't go unnoticed with his colleagues either, because Jo throws him a wide grin, and Garth sniggers. He shakes his head, but can’t hide the ear to ear smile. Before the wrangler can fire back, he enters the lounge area, the smell of bacon, fresh bread, and pancakes filling his nostrils like it does every morning. Aunt Ellen, his dear aunt Ellen. Everyone who works at this ranch should be thanking the man upstairs for this woman who makes the best scrambled eggs in the country.  
  
“Well, come on in, y’all!” She greets the workers, stirring the delicious smelling food in the frying pan, after which she starts scooping the eggs on the plates. “The food ain't sittin’ here to get cold.”  
With a watering mouth, Y/N settles down on the chair opposite of Bobby, who is already sipping on his coffee while Benny puts a fresh pot on the table. Ash hits the radio, letting Americana music mix with chatter. When everyone is seated, Ellen turns to Y/N.  
“Now honey, here we pray before our meal. Feel free to join us, but it’s perfectly fine if you don’t,” she informs the intern with a gentleness in her voice that makes her feel comfortable, whatever option she chooses. Ellen takes her husband’s hand and squeezes it sweetly, then turns to one of the wranglers. “Ash? I believe it’s your turn for prayers.”  
“Great, ‘cause I’m starvin’,” Ash states, apparently keeping things short. “Good food, good meat. Good God, let’s eat!”  
“Amen!” Benny adds, not wasting a second before starting on his breakfast.

Y/N grins at the sight of the two men, who couldn’t be more different, devouring the food as her neighbor Jo shakes her head disapproving, muttering ‘savages’. Laughing, Garth reaches over the table for a freshly baked bun while Bobby asks for the butter, and passes the ketchup to his daughter before she can ask for it. The blonde squirts the red sauce on her stir-fried eggs, leaving her bacon unattended long enough for Ash to almost steal it from her, had Ellen not smacked him on the hand with a spatula. The intern might have stumbled on a ranch that at the surface seems a little dysfunctional with workers and wranglers that occasionally score high on the crazy scale, but somehow she feels like she fits in. The fear of not being accepted was washed away by the welcoming comfort that reflects from every single one present in this room. She is a part of this already. 

As she chews on the delicious bacon while laughing over one of Benny’s funny stories, she glances across the table, catching Dean looking over. It startles her a little, but she doesn’t look away and neither does he. For just a moment, she could swear she caught him off guard when she laid eyes on him, or did she imagine him flinching? The exchange of looks lasts several seconds as the cowboy keeps a hold of her gaze, letting her dwell in his emerald greens, before Bobby breaks the moment unintentionally by elbowing his head wrangler when he tries to pick one of the sausages out of the pan in front of him. Relieved, Y/N breathes and take a swig of her glass of orange juice. How many times does she have to remind herself that the only reason she’s here, is to prove to her dad that she can run her own business? She has to stay focused, remember what Jo told her, and do what she came here to do. Yet the presence of the tall and handsome cowboy with dark blonde hair, gorgeous eyes, and a killer smile is going to make that difficult. She doesn't even have to make it through the first day to figure that much.

~~~

Honestly, Y/N has no idea what she was so worried about in the weeks prior to this internship. Working at the ranch proves to be hard labor, but the physical aspect of the job is about the only one she needs to adjust to. The rookie picks up quickly and doesn't have to be told twice, which is noticed by the crew. Garth especially compliments her on occasion, which fuels her confidence and motivates her to a degree that the soreness of her body is forgotten.  
  
After breakfast, the trail horses are brought in and tied up at the tack up area, where she and Jo prepare them for the first ride of the day. While handling some of the four-legged workers, she tries to remember the names and characteristics of each. She gets to know Teddy, an easy-going, brown gelding whose full name is Ted Nugent, and Pink Floyd, a small chestnut with a peculiar scar on his shoulder in the shape of a triangle; a visible memory of an old injury he suffered when he ran through a fence as a foal. Then there's Bowie, a red roan with a zigzag marking on his forehead, Joplin, a dark mare, and Dylan, a pinto coming of age but is still going strong. Seems like Dean got a little carried away when naming the animals, it’s hard to miss the rock theme.   
  
Jo takes a group of five inexperienced riders for a slow ride, while Garth continues to tack up training horses for the head wrangler, so that he can get off one and on the next. At that pace, eight horses have their workout before lunch. Between sweeping floors and turning out horses, Y/N manages to catch a glimpse of the training, and even though she doesn't want to get caught leaning on a broom, she can't stop her gaze from drifting over to the arena. The skilled rider is a joy to watch, and not just because he looks good doing it. Not once does he use force to control the horse, and the extent of his patience is remarkable, especially when one of the young stallions acts up. Without a shadow of a doubt, Y/N is going to learn a lot from him, she can't wait for her horse to arrive. 

After lunch - which again is served by Ellen and tastes absolutely devine - the crew retreats to the bunkhouse for their two-hour siesta. Ash lays across the entire couch, completely out of it and snoring loudly, while Benny watches daytime television. The others went back to their rooms, all but Y/N. Impatiently, she draws marks in the sand with the heel of her boot, as she sits on the lowest step of the porch, gazing at the road that meets the private drive, about a half a mile further up. The heat is close to unbearable, even here in the shade droplets of sweat run down her chest. She understands the necessity of the break after experiencing her first day in extreme conditions, because working in these temperatures would be torture. A fly bugs the young woman; she smacks the insect out of her face while she wonders when the special delivery will finally arrive. The transporter called an hour ago that he had made good time and would probably arrive at the ranch half past noon. Which would be right about now, according to her phone. Y/N sighs and snaps her eyes at the main road again. 

“What time are you expecting your horse?"  
Dean slowly walks up from behind. She can feel the wood creak under her as he steps closer. His voice is enough to make her breath hitch a little, although she’s not sure if that’s because his sudden appearance startles her, or because he simply has that effect on her respiration.  
Quick to cover her surprise, she answers him without moving from her spot. “Five minutes ago.”  
Now she does look over her shoulder, watching him come closer with two cans of Coca-Cola in his hands. He offers her one, which she takes gladly and thanks him for, then she straightens herself again.   
“I hope she’s alright,” she sighs, expressing her concern as she opens the drink.  
“It’s a long drive from Maine, ain't it?” Dean assumes.  
“Thirty-five hours on the trailer,” she replies. “They stopped for the night in Tulsa, but still.”

He leans against one of the struts supporting the roof. The wrangler sips on his cool drink, clasping his lips around the opening in the can as he tilts his head back and takes a swig, exposing his neck as he does so. Y/N can't help but notice. _Damn, that jawline… _She snaps out of it and rips her eyes from him before he catches her swooning. Good call, because he looks down on her a second later.  
“What’s your horse's name?”  
“Meadowsweet.” She smiles.  
“Quarter?” he asks again.  
Y/N nods. “Sired by Gunner.”  
  
Dean raises his brows impressed. Gunner is a leading National Reining Horse Association stallion, one of the few to earn over five million dollars in offspring, and is inducted into the NRHA Hall of Fame. Foals from his descent are known for their talent and eagerness to perform. That stallion has brought some of the best reining horses in the world.  
  
“Don't worry about it. The transporter would have called if anything had occurred,” he reassures, comfortingly. “And all the horses that come through those barn doors, settle in just fine. These lands have this… peacefulness over them. It’s a good place for the soul, horse and human. You’ll see.”  
Calmed by his gentle words, Y/N lets her gaze drift off, the corner of her mouth curling up. Then she glances up at the wrangler, whose eyes haven't left her yet.  
“Has it been good for you, too?”   
He scoffs. “Like you wouldn't believe.”  
It's the way he delivers those words, that tempts Y/N to read the man in her company. How old would he be? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine, maybe? But it's without a doubt that in those years he has been through plenty. The cynical chuckle before he spoke, the way he averted his eyes immediately, those tiny tells just unraveled more than his confident talk and cheery appearance plus Jo’s warnings about the wrangler combined.   
  
“How come?” she asks before she can stop herself.  
A little thrown back by her unexpected question, Dean steals a glance, grinning at her nosiness. Instantly the blood rushes to her face again as she closes her eyes and covers her face with both hands. _ God! Why can't you simply think through what you are about to say before you blurt it out?!   
_ “Sorry, that was inappropriate. Again,” she excuses herself.  
“No, no. It’s quite alright,” Dean says, putting her mind to rest.  
  
Usually, the wrangler isn’t eager on opening up about his past. It's something he keeps to himself and only very few know more about. He closed that book a long time ago, so he keeps it simple.  
“My mom died when I was young, Dad wasn't around much,” he explains. “I came to live on the ranch when I was fourteen and I never left.”  
Silenced, Y/N watches him, eyes big and filling with sympathy.   
“No brothers and sisters?” she wonders.  
Now she pulls on his heartstrings, even though Dean tries to suppress what he feels within. Yet his jaw flexes, his head tips down as the brightness in his eyes fades.  
“I have a brother. But - uh... He ran away from home before I left myself,” Dean elaborates. “I haven’t seen him since. I don't know where he's at.”

With empathy heavy on her chest, she tries to think of something to say in order to turn this conversation on a less depressing course than the one it’s sailing now. Y/N breathes out, though. Seems like for the first time since the two met, she’s clueless about what to say, and so she states the obvious.  
“I'm sorry,” she says, internally kicking herself in the head for bringing out the skeletons in his closet.   
“Don't be. I landed on my feet,” Dean assures, trying to take away her discomfort with a smile. “These lands, this ranch; this is home. And the people runnin’ it and workin’ here are my family. Life’s good.”  
He means that: she can tell, because the passion returns in his powerful gaze. Soothed by the sight of his contentment, she smiles down at the empty can in her hand, which she’s torn the cap from.

“And you? Any siblings?” Dean returns, genuinely interested.  
“Yeah, three brothers actually. All older than me.” She grins at that.   
“Whoa, that must have been a challenge.” The wrangler chuckles as he takes the last sip of his Coke.  
“Not so much. They toughened me up and when it came down to it, and were always there to protect me. Plus, I did learn how to build a treehouse and I’m a pretty good wrestler too,” she adds.   
The cowboy smirks imagining it. “And how does a girl like you know so much about Led Zeppelin?” he wonders.  
Y/N furrows her brow. “A girl like _ me _ ?”  
“Yeah, I mean… Y’know,” he mutters, a little unsettled by her tone. “From upstate, young, twenty… something.” _Shit._ He's digging his own grave here.   
“Twenty-four,” she fills in for him, amused by his stumbling, “and I like to think I have an old soul, but really it was my Grandfather who introduced me to music.”  
“He did a good job teaching you then,” Dean compliments, looking down at his cowboy boots and still trying to overcome the near-miss.  
“He did. He was amazing. Meadow was actually a gift from him,” she tells.

_Was_. He_ was _ amazing.

Dean peeks at the intriguing woman from under his lashes. He doesn't need to be a genius to figure out that her Granddad isn't amongst them anymore. A short silence follows as Dean ponders on how to continue the conversation, when a dust cloud on the driveway catches his attention. His focus on the horizon triggers Y/N to get up and look in the same direction. A bright shimmer of sunlight bounces off the aluminum trailer pulled by a red Dodge, which approaches slowly in the distance. A whirlwind of excitement blows through her as she looks over at Dean. Then she gets down from the porch and heads off to meet them.  
“Need help unloading?” he checks before following his intern.  
“Yeah, I can use a hand,” she says, looking over her shoulder.  
  
And so he follows. By the time they reach the square in front of the horse barn, the pickup turns onto the parking lot and comes to a stop. A middle-aged man with a black beard turns towards her after getting out of his truck, reaching out to shake her hand.  
“Y/N L/N?” he checks.  
She nods. “Yes, that’s me.”  
A loud neigh sounds from the trailer, followed by stomping. Meadow heard her owner loud and clear and her response puts a smile on the cowgirl’s face. She missed her horse, but it seems like her friend is glad to see her human too.   
“Was she okay?” Y/N checks with the transporter as she circles the trailer.  
“A little restless every now and then, but other than that she did fine,” he says, taking the safety pins out of the heavy handle, turning it open.

Dean had done so on the other side as well and the men lower the ramp to the gravel. Inside two pointy small ears are pinned towards the light. Meadowsweet's trademark white face stands out in the shade as she yanks on the chain that prevents her from turning around. It’s for her own good, too much freedom during travel could cause her to lose her balance and fall. But she doesn't understand the restrain, and the mare seems to be insulted by the limitation to her movement. All she wants now is to get out, eat, drink, and stretch her legs.  
  
A soft low purr comes Y/N’s way, her nostrils flaring. After days on the road, taken away from home by a man she didn't recognize, a familiar face calms her. Softly hushing her horse, Y/N walks up to her, takes the lead rope, and clasps it to her handcrafted halter. She releases the chain and pushes open the divider, guiding her horse down the ramp while both Dean and the driver stand on each side of it, making sure Meadow doesn't step next to the lit. Alert, the mare looks around, taking in her new environment. The Arizona sun shines on her light brown coat, revealing a beautiful copper shine. A second neigh reverberates under the high roof of the barn when Y/N leads the Quarterhorse to the first stable on the right. Her call is countered by an echo produced by the other horses, who seem to welcome their new neighbor. Dean follows with the luggage, the heavy saddle under one arm and dragging her large tack box on wheels behind him.  
“What did you pack? Bricks?” he complains, grimacing, moving the equivalent of a woman’s suitcase on holiday; a lot of stuff she’s never going to use or wear, but might need.

Y/N presses her lips together and chuckles a little embarrassed. Yeah, maybe she went a little overboard while packing. She undoes Meadow from her halter and lets her be for a bit, smiling at how the mare curiously sniffs every inch of her new box. When she has decided her stable is safe, she circles around a couple of times, adjusts her bedding by digging through the wood shavings with her front leg, after which she lowers to her knees and falls on her side, taking a long-anticipated roll. She rolls over once, twice, then gets up and shakes off the sawdust, after which she looks at her human friend.  
"Satisfied?” Y/N asks, amused.  
Meadow sighs, pushing out a long breath, and starts eating the hay; seems like the Queen approves. Shaking her head with a smirk on her face, her owner closes the box. The driver walks up to her with the paperwork and a pen.  
“If you could sign this, I’ll be out of your hair,” he requests, handing over the papers and Meadow's FEI passport.   
  
Y/N leaves her autograph on the bottom line and hands the paperwork back. After exchanging another handshake, the man returns to his truck and starts the engine. As they watch him drive off, she lets out a sigh, the weight of the world finally falling off her shoulders.   
“Told ya she would be fine,” Dean reminds her, leaning on the stable door and admiring the beautiful mare in the box.  
Y/N smiles as she joins him, forking her fingers together while resting her arms on the edge.   
“Thanks,” she responds, genuinely.

He was right, and for the first time since the young woman arrived, a sense of true calm washes over her. Now that Meadow is here, everything is exactly how it should be. Her horse arrived safely and seems fit and well. Y/N can spend time with her again, more than she ever could when she was still in Uni. Now the adventure can truly begin.  
  
“I’m heading back to the bunkhouse. Work starts at two again,” Dean informs, assuming that his intern plans to stay.  
She watches him walk off down the alley between the stables, and takes a short second to appreciate the view. His hickory colored western hat is tipped forward to protect his face from the sun, the collar of his plaid blouse up, the hem at the bottom tucked into his jeans. Denim covers his O-shaped legs, which are probably a result of spending years of his life in the saddle. A muscular back, broad shoulders, strong arms. It doesn't matter from which angle she admires him, he’s insanely gorgeous. Another result of all that training and hard work is his well-shaped a--  
  
A wet nose slobbers over Y/N’s face, pulling a startled gasp from her. Meadow took the liberty to awaken her owner from her thoughts, right after drinking from the automatic waterer. Oh well, she needed a shower anyway.  
“It’s good to see you too, sugar,” she laughs, petting the horse. “Talking about sugar…”  
  
She digs deep in her pocket. The motion of her hand alone triggers Meadow to extend her neck and ask for the treat with her intense dark eyes. Y/N finds a sugar cube, takes her horse’s favorite candy out and feeds it to the bay mare. Grateful, she crunches the sweet between her molars and begs for more, but her owner holds up her hands innocently.   
“I'm out,” she says, sorry to disappoint.  
Not taking her words for granted, the smart animal searches her boss’s pockets, first left, then right, then gives her a look that expresses something along the lines of ‘are you kidding me?’ To make it up to the mare, Y/N rubs her neck, softly scratching near her withers. Clearly enjoying the grooming, the mare nozzles her upper lip and turns her head a little. The cowgirl chuckles at the sight, once again realizing how much she missed her company. She mist her whiskers brushing against her hand as she reaches to touch her, and the gentleness in her eyes when she’s at ease.  
  
Y/N’s hand lingers on the flat surface of Meadow’s forehead, between her eyes. It’s a horse’s blind spot, where she can't see her. Touching a horse there requires trust, yet there isn't a single fiber in Meadow’s body that isn't comfortable with her owner, not even her instincts. The mare even lowers her head further, a sign of relaxation and submission. Y/N lets her hand slide down her face and rest on her strong jaw, as she lays her cheek against Meadow’s white blaze, closing her eyes for a moment.  
  
Dean talked about home earlier, how the ranch is his.  
Well, this right here, this moment with her Meadow, is hers. 


	5. Simple Kind Of Man

6.40 PM: Y/N’s exhausting first day at Gold Canyon Ranch is over. She didn't expect the time to fly by as it did. But turning out the horses, sweeping the floors, and cleaning the tack actually offered a soothing satisfaction. It was a nice variation to pitching business plans and writing a thesis, which basically has been the only thing she worked on for the past eight months. The tasks here were simple, therapeutic almost. That she didn't get to ride a single horse yet doesn't even bother her. What does, is the fact that she is drenched in sweat and covered in dust and horsehair. She can feel dirt tickle in her cleavage and under her bra, in her socks, and beneath the denim of her jeans. Somehow the particles got absolutely everywhere, mixing with the layer of moisture that covers her entire body.

Dean locks up the tack room, which Y/N sorted out, while Jo took a group of twelve guests on a mountain hack. Impressed, he glances through the glass four-squared window, before he turns to her. The intern asked to organize the tack herself, after noticing the messy storage place. To Garth’s delight, he didn't even have to assign her that job.  
“Good work. I don't think it has ever been this neat,” the head wrangler compliments.  
Y/N smiles at that, raking her fingers through her dirty hair; it feels like she hasn't washed it in a week.  
“Thanks,” she replies, happy that her work is being appreciated.

The two of them stroll outside to the square behind the stables, where Benny and Ash are already waiting after they secured all the gaits. Jo joins too and sits down on the edge of a trough that holds fresh water for the thirsty four-legged workers when they come back from rides. While the five wait for Garth to finish up refilling the feed cart, Benny and Ash have a smoke. Y/N joins the ranch owner’s daughter and settles down in the spot she saved. Tired, she sighs louder than she wanted to be audible.  
Jo sniggers. “A little different from the desk job you studied for, huh?”  
  
Y/N takes off her hat and rubs away the beads of sweat that have gathered on her forehead with the back of her hand. Jo knows what she received her master’s in, because after the young blonde escorted her to the bunkhouse and helped bring in her luggage, they continued the conversation that started in the car on their way from the airport. Besides turning down the head wrangler, her study also came up.   
“It's a nice change of pace,” she admits, smiling content.  
“So, you like it here? Not gonna go runnin’ back to Maine?” Jo double-checks.  
“Not anytime soon,” Y/N assures.  
“Good!”

Garth, who snuck up from behind, grips her shoulders and drags her back with more force than you would expect from the slender stable boy. Without mercy, he pulls the rookie from the edge, backed up by Jo who gives her an extra push, causing Y/N to lose balance and fall into the water trough. With a loud yelp, she lands in the cold water and almost goes under entirely, legs still dangling over the edge. Like a cat that has slipped into a bathtub, she desperately claws at anything in order to get a grip and pull herself up again, eyes wide in shock.  
  
“Jesus Christ! C-cold!” she stammers, throwing Jo and Garth a startled look. “What did you do that for?!”  
None of the workers can answer immediately. Benny has buckled over from laughter as Ash claps his hands, entertained. Both Garth and the girl who Y/N thought was her friend have trouble breathing. Dean watches from a little distance, arms crossed and an amused grin on his face.   
“You are now officially a part of the team, Yankee.” The cowboy grins, victoriously. “Consider this your initiation.”

Y/N stops struggling to get out, a huff escaping her lips. Of course, she should have known that the newbie gets pranked at some point. Feeling fooled and embarrassed, the intern shakes her head. Although their actions have her feeling insecure, she’s also aware that this gag might be a token of their acceptance.  
She sighs, extending her hand and asking for a little help. “Alright, you guys got me.”  
  
Jo steps forward, trying to hide the smirk still plastered on her face. Not for long, though, because Y/N braces herself with one boot on the edge of the trough and quickly locks her fingers around Jo’s wrist. Unable to escape the intern’s grip and not nearly quick enough to prevent an involuntary dive, Jo is pulled into the water as well, exclaiming a loud squeal that sounds more like a pig than a human being. Now the guy's bellow over in laughter; Dean especially, seems to die in a fit after witnessing his little cousin get her well-deserved payback. The look on Jo’s face causes Y/N to giggle loudly as well; seems like years of wrestling her three brothers pay off once again.  
  
“You ungrateful lil’ skank!” Jo exclaims, propping herself up on her hands to keep herself above the water surface.  
“You're calling me out? Really?” Y/N replies as she gets up.  
Turning towards the blonde wrangler after stumbling out of the trough, she places her hands on her waist as Garth helps Jo to her feet. Disgusted, she just stands there, holding out her arms while the water drips down, leaving puddles in the dry sand.   
“Great.” She scoffs, stepping out as her cowboy boots squish. “Now I really really need a shower.”   
“And a dry shirt, or your dad will rip you a new one at dinner,” Dean smirks.  
“Nice bra, by the way,” Y/N whispers, leaning in a little closer before she speaks.

Jo’s jaw drops in shock as she glances down at her light blue chequered blouse, which transformed into a see-through hooker top now that it’s drenched. Her red lace bra is visible, catching the attention of the men. All but one, because Jo’s relative obviously isn't captivated by his little cousin, but rather by the other cowgirl. The denim blouse Y/N is wearing doesn't actually reveal more now that it's wet, but the fabric does stick to her skin as if it's an airtight fit, outlining every beautiful curve she has. Water droplets sneak from her neck down her chest and into her shirt, shimmering on her smooth skin. Dean swallows hard. _ Hot damn, she’s a sight for sore eyes. _

Still smiling widely at Jo - who started a rant about how a bra isn't any different from a bikini - Y/N lets her gaze wander over to him. Dean instantly looks down, feeling busted, as red flushes his cheeks. The smirk on her lips dies down into a subtle smile, reading him until he dares to meet her eyes again. Did he just...? Was he…? Had she just caught him staring at_ her _in awe? That short moment in which she found him looking, he seemed mesmerized. Him being the one to break eye contact, immediately followed by the blush that even his dipped down cowboy hat can't hide, only proves that.  
  
Dean feels exposed, and he decides to direct the attention to one of the workers before anyone else notices the moment between them. He glances at Garth, who seems to be under a spell as well, a spell unintentionally cast on him by the other girl. The head wrangler’s death stare doesn't even snap him out of his trance.  
“Like what you see, Garth?” Dean clears his throat, protective of his cousin.   
Turning red, the timid young guy drops his gaze, stammering something incomprehensible. Meanwhile, Jo eyes Garth with a perplexed look on her face, but then focuses on Y/N. It awakens her from her thoughts and with good reason. Right about now would be a good time to start running.  
“You are so dead,” Jo scoffs, trying to come off as serious. 

It's the intern’s cue to head for the hills, letting out a laugh as Jo chases after her towards the bunkhouse. The men watch them run away and Benny can't help but chuckle.  
“Hell, I would pay to see a wrestling match in the mud between those two gals.”  
“That’s my cousin you’re talking about,” Dean warns.  
Benny smirks. “So? She ain't _ my _ cousin.”  
The comment is countered by a smack in the head, so fast that the broad farrier is unable to dodge the swing. He laughs at his friend's response, though. Bantering and frolicking is common between the two. After all, they have been like brothers for the past fifteen years.  
“You leave me no choice then, I’ll settle for the other Belle,” Benny jokes.

Dean responds with a forced chuckle, but the comment has his stomach in knots. No way Benny is going to run off with the girl he has set his mind on. He must do something, come up with an excuse to prevent the guy from going all Southern charm on her. He has to keep his cool, though.  
“Sorry buddy, but I’m calling dibs on the intern,” he decides, patting his friend on the shoulder as he passes him.   
Stunned by the bold announcement, Benny stops in his tracks, then he snorts in laughter. He cannot be serious. He’s calling dibs?   
“Oh, no no no,” he counters, catching up with the head wrangler again. “You don't get to call dibs on her. I know you put your money on that horse, but if I remember correctly, she declined.”  
“Don't care. I saw her first,” Dean simply replies, not impressed with his best friend’s contradictions.

Benny shoots him a glare, but the brightness of his clear blue eyes shows that he thinks of it as nothing more than a harmless disagreement. Besides jokingly keeping a score every now and then, there is no competition between the two of them whatsoever. Usually, they don't even fuss about who takes who to their rooms at the end of the night. The women they shared their beds with were at the ranch for a couple of weeks at most, an intern would stay a little longer if they lasted that long. There was never any seriousness to the flings, they were just that: short term and without attachments. One night Benny got lucky, another night Dean, some nights both men had a woman in their beds. Heck, there have even been a handful of girls they both had sex with. Although Benny doesn't sense it yet, this is different. Dean can't really put his finger on it and he plans not to look into it too much, but he wants Y/N for himself.  
  
“Oh, c’mon now. Women who come through those saloon doors are rarely that easy on the eyes,” Benny whines.  
“Well, there's Casey.” Dean waits for his companion to pick up on the hint, which he does soon enough.  
The Southerner narrows his eyes, making sure that his pal is implying what he thinks he's implying. “What would be your proposition, my friend?”  
Dean hooks his thumb behind his belt buckle as he kicks his boots through the dirt, a sparkling triumph in his eyes. This offer is going to be too good to turn down.  
“Casey - who by the way is as thrilling to take for a private ride as you've been imagining - is all yours. You can have her to yourself_ if _ you leave Y/N for me.”  
  
The men reach the porch of the bunkhouse, where they halt at the bottom of the steps. Benny turns to face his friend, who has extended his hand and is waiting for the guy opposite of him to shake it. He reads the head wrangler while rubbing his beard, piercing eyes trying to sweeten the pot.  
“I dunno, brother. That intern is somethin’ else,” he contemplates, challenging. “And what if she turns your sorry hind down again, huh? Sure I can give it a go then?”  
But the head wrangler shakes his head and keeps his foot down. “Either you're in or you're out.” 

Benny keeps a straight face as he considers his options, but then the line that parts his lips starts to grow into a devilish grin. He shakes the cowboy’s hand in agreement.  
“Great doing business with ya, Chief,” he says, content.  
The firm handshake lasts just long enough for Jo to see when she peeks through the beaded fly curtain. She changed her clothes and freshened up. As she throws the boys a penetrating glare, she continues braiding her long hair.  
“What are you asshats up to?” she questions, picking up on their suspicious behavior.  
The partners in crime look at each other and shrug innocently.   
“Nothin’,” they respond in unison.  
  
The ranch owner's daughter takes a second or two to read them, furrowing her brow as her penetrating stare pauses on Dean, then on her colleague. Despite not trusting their shady whispers for one bit, she rolls her eyes and goes back to the bathroom to call Y/N for dinner. Sometimes she wonders how it is possible that those two idjits aren't related.

~~~

How the employees of the Singer family are not so fat that before getting in the saddle, their horses would flip them off, amazes Y/N. Ellen’s crispy fried chicken topped generously with homemade gravy, served with potato slices baked in rosemary, together with buttered corn on the cob, tastes absolutely delicious. Jo’s mother cooked enough for an orphanage, or for eight hungry men and women as it turns out. Despite that it seemed impossible to eat half of the meal that was served up, the pots and pans are scraped clean by the end of dinner. Seems like everyone worked up quite an appetite.  
  
Full and satisfied, Y/N heads back to the bunkhouse together with the other residents, expecting to retreat to her room, crash on her bed feeling delightfully bloated for about fifteen minutes before falling asleep. But when Benny and Garth drag some chairs outside on the porch as Jo flicks a switch that turns on fairy lights that hang from the ceiling of the roof edge, she starts to get that the evening has only just begun. Country starts to alternate with rock on a playlist called _ Bunkhouse Booze-nights _on Ash’s computer and she can’t help but grin when the familiar intro of Led Zep’s ‘Ramble On’ comes from the speakers. When she looks over, she catches Dean behind the laptop, a boyish smirk on his face and a wink coming her way. Y/N feels the blood rush to her cheeks, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from shifting into a smile. 

“What are you havin’?” he asks, making his way over to the doorway to grab drinks.  
The intern isn’t sure if consuming alcohol is smart, knowing that her alarm will start buzzing again at 5.30 in the morning. She doesn’t want to give the wrong impression, plus she’s fully aware that she’s an absolute lightweight. The last time she had a couple of drinks was at her graduation party, if she remembers correctly since the memory is a bit vague. What she does remember is that she wasn’t worth a dime by the end of the night, let alone the next morning.  
  
“A soda is fine,” she replies shyly.  
Her peculiar answer draws some attention.  
“I'm afraid we don't serve that here, sugar,” Benny chuckles, leaning against the back of the bench, boots propped on a wooden box that serves as a table.  
“C’mon, Yankee. Live a little!” Jo encourages.   
She emerges from behind the fly curtain, her arms around two large cozy cushions that decorated the couches inside. She throws one, which Y/N is able to catch before it hits her in the face, as she herself sits down on the other one.  
She yields. “A beer then. Just one.”  
“Let me tell you somethin’,” Dean says when he gets back from the kitchen with a crate of heavenly golden brew. “Firstly: we don’t drink beer here. You’re in Arizona now, we drink Corona, and secondly-” He sits down on a chair opposite of the intern, setting the twenty-four bottles down on the ground, “- you can never have just one beer.”

He takes out a Corona, hooks the cap behind the edge of the crate, and jams the bottle down with the palm of his free hand, sending the cap in the air. When he hands Y/N the drink, she shakes her head, chuckling. Apparently her new colleagues are going to make sure she will have fun tonight, whether she likes it or not. The head wrangler continues to open the Mexican ‘Cervezas’ until everyone has a drink in their hand.  
  
“Fellas,” Benny calls for attention as he heaves his drink. “May the wranglers ride horses and the cowgirls ride wranglers.”  
The men cheer and toast to that. Jo, however, raises her eyebrow at Benny and then disapprovingly scoffs. Challenging, her gaze glides past the men in the circle, Y/N can tell she has a comeback ready.  
“Here’s to our horses. May their obedience and inability to talk bullshit inspire men one day.”  
Y/N snorts and even Garth appreciates the smart reply, hiding his amused grin when Benny looks over at him, muttering ‘What? It was funny’ while the women in their company toast their bottles and take a sip.  
  
“Alright, all jokes aside,” Dean now raising his glass to the newest member of the crew. “To our new intern. May you have the time of your life here at the ranch, gain a new family, and find what you are looking for.”  
His words warm Y/N; that was such a sweet thing of him to say. She knows Jo thinks it’s a public flirt, but again she reads so much truth in his words. Appreciatively the cowgirl smiles, her Corona meeting his in the air, after which the others join in on the toast.  
“Hear, hear!” Garth chants, backed up by the others.

It will turn out to be the beginning of a great night. Y/N gets to know the other workers a little better and is all ears when Ash starts to tell tall tales about his bull riding career. The first crate of Corona is emptied in record time and the crew starts on a second. After three beers she can feel the alcohol taking an effect and Y/N’s conscience begins to sound the alarm. She’s not sure if a crisis in the morning is avoidable at this point, but if she still wants a chance at a good start of tomorrow, now would be the time to head to bed. It’s ten to midnight when she decides to call it, to the disappointment of the others.  
  
“Ah, please. Don’t leave me with these morons,” Jo begs when her new friend gets up.  
“I'm gonna be a tired mess if I don't,” Y/N responds, feeling a little sorry for her.  
“We’ll forgive you if you're a little sleepy and hungover tomorrow, Y/N,” Garth promises.  
“I'm not sure if Mr. Singer will see it that way,” she brings to mind.  
“You'll be fine and if not, you can blame it on us,” Benny adds.   
“C'mon… Stay?”  
It's Dean who asks, his soft green eyes on the cowgirl as he waits for her to cave. With a deep sigh, she glances at her watch, knowing that she really shouldn't. Y/N is about to tell him ‘no’ for the second night in a row, when his best friend saves him.  
“You'll miss the best part of the night. Dean was just about to fetch his guitar,” Benny mentions.  
His remark triggers Y/N to curiously raises her brow at the head wrangler, who in turn eyes the Southern farrier.   
“I was?” he counters.  
Benny chuckles. “If you want her to stick around, you better.”   
Dean now glances over at the intern carefully, then gets up. “Alright alright…” he mumbles, pushing the fly curtain aside when he heads to his room.

Y/N sits down again, waiting for him to return in anticipation; this she would like to see_. _ Seconds later, the handsome cowboy returns with a Gibson six string. He settles on his chair again and rests the body of the acoustic guitar on his right thigh. The way the curved lines of the instrument form around his leg as he gently holds it by the neck that fits his hand perfectly, one would think that the guitar was made especially for him. He positions his fingers on the strings between the frets and strums them with his other hand above the soundhole while listening carefully, then twists one of the tuners on the head of the guitar slightly as he keeps testing the string until it's on key. The process continues until the Gibson sounds like harmony, then Dean shifts his focus to his audience.  
“Requests?” he asks the group, although he is looking at the only woman he has eyes for.  
“Anything good and old,” she replies, folding her legs in pretzel position while leaning forward, elbows on her knees, and the fourth bottle between her hands.

He thinks about if for a short moment, then starts playing the intro of _Led Zeppelin’s_ ‘Stairway to Heaven’. The delighted expression when she recognizes the song after two notes triggers Dean to smile, and he continues to play. His fingers move swiftly over the fretboard as the wrangler hits the chords while swaying slowly to the rhythm, closing his eyes every so often. He makes a face when he messes up a note, but recovers and picks it back up. Completely astounded by his talent, Y/N doesn’t even notice that her jaw drops slightly when he sets in on the first verse and nails the melody. There is no doubt about it; he is absolutely amazing. When the song is over he receives a four-man applause and a shout out from Ash, who appreciates a little classic rock as well.  
  
“If you think that's all that pretty face can do, you're wrong,” Benny tells her. “He's just warmin’ up.”  
“How about some Southern comfort then, ey Benny? A little _Lynyrd Skynyrd_?” the head wrangler suggests.  
His fingers caress the strings again, light and soft as if he's starting on a lullaby. Although the original is a true rock n’ roll anthem, Y/N recognizes the song that he’s about to cover acoustically. When Dean opens his mouth and lets his voice be heard, her eyes grow larger and she cannot believe her ears. _  
  
"Mama told me, when I was young.  
Said ‘sit beside me, my only son.  
_ _ Listen closely, to what I say.  
If you do this, it will help you some sunny day."  
  
_ Y/N isn’t sure if it's the serenade he performs for her that does the trick, or the sight of the good looking cowboy playing his guitar as he brings the lyrics so passionately, but now she’s the one who’s mesmerized. His voice sounds like a combination of honey and whiskey, a rough edge adding to the beautiful depth. Completely blown away, she listens to the gift that was given him, taking in the musical mix of guitar and vocals.  
  
_ “Oh, take your time. Don't live too fast.  
Troubles will come, and they will pass.”  
  
_ As he continues, Dean looks up, meeting Y/N’s astonished gaze, which he keeps a hold of like he did on the night they met.

_ “You'll find a woman, and you'll find love…”  
  
_ While singing the line, his eyes are fixed on her. Maybe or maybe not intentional, but that question does not influence the consequences. She feels her heart rate pick up, beating evidently in her chest. A warm, tingly sensation starts to evolve in the pit of her stomach, enabling her to move. If she would have wanted to break eye contact, good luck, because turning her gaze away is simply impossible.  
  
_ “Forget your lust from the rich man's gold.  
All that you need, is in your soul.  
__You can do this, oh baby, if you try.  
All that I want for you is to be satisfied.”__  
  
_ The fight against the effect that cowboy has on her, lasted a good twenty-four hours. Stubbornly she battled what surfaced the very first moment he so much as glanced at her over his poker cards yesterday evening, when she first saw the handsome wrangler. There are plenty of reasons why letting these feelings roam free is a bad idea. For one, work doesn't mix well with personal life. Secondly, she’s only staying for six months and was unable to keep a relationship going with someone who lives in the same town, let alone halfway across the country. Y/N could go on bullet-pointing why she should resist the hypnosis he has her under. _This is a bad, bad idea, Y/N!_ _He’s a playboy! He doesn’t like you, he likes girls in general! He couldn’t possibly be attracted to you! _But telling herself doesn't help anymore, there's no reasoning with her heart.   
  
_ “And be a simple kind of man.  
Be something you'll love and understand.   
__Baby, be a simple, kind of man.  
Oh, won't you do this for me son, if you can.”  
  
_The excitement she felt when she got on a pony at the age of four. The true fear she experienced when she fell off a horse, that moment right before she hit the ground. The thrill when she performed a sliding stop for the first time. That profound admiration that warmed her soul when she got Meadow from her granddad. The ecstasy that raised her up when she became State Champion with a perfect ride. Throw all those emotions into a blender and that would describe how Y/N feels right now. Vividly experiencing the chemical reaction in her brain, she continues to watch the man strumming his guitar, who has absolutely no idea what he’s doing to the young woman opposite of him. The small light bulbs above him shimmer an angelic light on his golden hair, highlighting his strong features. She is so captivated by the moment, that she can barely make out the words he's singing, but she does hear the soul in his voice. And as she realizes what is happening to her, something snaps inside, like a rubber band. Then she knows. Then she knows that there is in fact a way to describe this rollercoaster ride she’s on right now.

She’s falling.  
She’s falling in love.  
  
_ "Don't you worry, you'll find yourself.  
Follow your heart, and nothing else.  
You can do this, oh baby, if you try.  
All that I want from you, is to be satisfied.”_


	6. Blame It On The Tequila

Okay, maybe the tequila last night wasn’t such a good idea. Neither was that margarita the previous night, or the drinking game the night before that one. Or was it the other way around? Y/N cannot seem to recall, but today is Friday, so at least tomorrow she can sleep her way through the headache. Never ever did she drink as much as she did this week. Normally that would bother her, especially considering she’s not here on Spring break. But when the drinks are offered in a time when she needs a little something to stop thinking about that _damned_ Dean Winchester, she couldn't care less about the increase of alcohol consumption.  
  
She found the balance quite quickly, too. Intoxicated enough to let go of the complexity that comes with growing fondness of the head wrangler, but sober enough to stop herself from doing anything stupid. The consequence is, however, that on this morning ride, her brain feels like it’s trying to expand beyond the size of her head. Thank God her stomach isn't acting up, because Joplin is trotting under her nervously. Seems like Y/N is having trouble finding the ‘walk’ button this early. The hot-blooded mare fails to respond when her rider asks her to slow down by saying ‘ho’ with a calm voice, but when Y/N breathes out, relaxes her legs, and shifts deeper in the saddle only by a fraction of an inch, the black horse transitions to walk.  
“Good girl,” Y/N compliments her.  
  
Three days without riding were more than she could handle. Meadow needed some time to recover from the long journey and to get used to her new home, but Y/N needed to restrain herself from climbing on the mare’s back anyway. She imagined this was a glimpse of what it would be like to kick an addiction cold turkey, going into withdrawal from the lack of her drug. As if not being able to train her own horse wasn't enough, it took another extra day before Y/N got onto any horse at all. It wasn't until yesterday morning that the supervisor decided that she deserved a shot at proving herself as a wrangler. She had to earn that by mucking, shit scooping, cleaning tack, and turning horses in and out. Which she gets, of course. Dean and Bobby wanted to see what she is made of before they let her ride one of their animals. But boy, was she frustrated. She even got to the point that Garth almost caught her muttering a promise to herself that if she had to clean up some horse’s massive dump one more time without a reward, she would be out of here.  
  
Yesterday she finally got to accompany a few guests on a trail. It was amazing to feel the horse move under the saddle again, the experience of the communication that she established within a second, and how the perfect fit on his back felt like home. Apparently, she did well, because on this morning ride, she is allowed to come along too.  
  
Content, she looks ahead at the large group of inexperienced riders, who find their way down the hill with some difficulty. The respect Y/N holds for the trail horses has grown, because their patience and ability to keep their clumsy passengers in the saddle hasn't ceased to amaze her. Bruce, a draft horse mix, has halted several times already, waiting motionless until his overweight German load has pulled himself back into the saddle after slowly tipping to one side. It's quite entertaining to watch.  
  
As she smiles at what’s playing out in front of her, the sound of hoofsteps close by on the rocky surface reaches her hearing. When she glances over her shoulder, a beautiful buckskin is just about to transition to an easy walk after catching up. Her eyes glide up until they meet his rider.  
“So, how are you this morning?” Dean wonders, a playful smile on his face.  
It takes a short moment for her to answer, taken aback by her body’s response to the sight of the wrangler. A whirlwind starts to twist in her stomach, yet the headache suddenly doesn't seem as tormenting as it was a minute ago.  
“I'm okay,” she claims.  
He grins. “Sure about that? You had quite a few drinks last night.”  
“I can handle myself,” she returns defensively, narrowing her eyes at him a little.  
“Oh, I’m sure you can.”  
  
He chuckles, the warm and low sound rumbling deep in his throat triggering Y/N to peek at him from the corner of her eye. Was that a nervousness she detected? Did she just make him uneasy? He looks down, his lips drawn in a small smile. The sun from the east outlines the sharp lines of his jaw, edged by a scruff; apparently he didn't take the time to shave this morning. Boy, is she glad he didn’t.  
“Okay, I'll admit,” she says, trying to take away his insecurities. “My stomach might be a little… unsettled.”  
  
Y/N isn’t lying, although alcohol has nothing to do with the butterflies that came to life inside of her. He doesn't know that, thankfully, yet he keeps a hold of his intern’s gaze for a little while longer, reading her. As if Dean’s horse wants to help love a little, the Quarter sways closer to her horse Joplin, the two of them now riding stirrup to stirrup. His knee slightly brushes against hers every other step and despite that it's barely a touch, she’s highly aware of the physical contact.  
  
“Don't throw up on your horse if you want to leave a good impression with me. Believe me, it ain't pretty,” Dean half jokes, half flirts.  
She throws her head back in a laugh. “Don't worry, I won't. But please don't tell me you have seen that happen.”  
“More than once, I'm afraid,” he remembers, turning in his saddle to face his younger cousin. “Ey, Jo?”  
The blonde cowgirl, who is about thirty yards behind them, throws him a confused look, since she hasn't picked up a word of their conversation. Puzzled, she watches, inducing the riders further up to laughter.  
“No way!” Y/N cries out.  
“I ain’t kiddin’,” Dean sniggers. “I'll save that story for another time. Y’know, when your stomach isn't ‘unsettled’ by the same tequila that started Jo’s tale.”  
  
He spurs his horse, who canters forward to meet the group of guests up ahead. She observes Dean as the morning sun portrays the cowboy and his horse in a romantic light. Out here, away from the city, the Arizona landscape would have anyone believe that they traveled back to the time, when the Wild West was still the real deal. Cacti surround them, peculiar mountain peaks shaped by ten thousand years of wind erosion obstruct the far edge of the world. And in this perfect portrait rides a handsome cowboy, one with his horse, clouds of dust in their wake. An amused smile allows a glimpse of Y/N’s true feelings to shine through. There it is again, that tingly sensation in her belly. _Sure, Dean. Blame it on the tequila,_ she thinks to yourself.  
  
“What the hell was that?”  
Now that Dean left his spot next to her, Jo has caught up, gently pulling the reins as she sits back to bring her horse’s pace down.  
Feeling caught, Y/N looks at her, brought off balance by the spite in the cowgirl’s voice. “What do you mean?”  
“Oh, c’mon, Yankee. I wasn’t born yesterday, and neither were you. You just completed your master in business, don't act like you're stupid,” Jo counters. “You and Dean, what’s going on?”  
The cowgirl eyes her in shock, her jaw dropping unpleasantly surprised. Was it really that obvious? How is she going to talk herself out of this one?  
“I - I don't--” she stutters, blood rushing to her face. “There - there's nothing--”  
  
She’s not sure if it’s her shameful expression or the fact that she lost her tongue, but Jo knows enough. She closes her eyes and sighs deeply.  
“Y/N…” her friend starts, a mixture of disappointment and pity present in her voice. “Please don't go down that road. He will hurt you so bad you're gonna wish you never gone on that flight that got you here.”  
Now the intern sighs too. Denying will not do her any good. Jo is smart enough to see right through it.  
“Listen, I really like having you around. You're good company, you're a hard worker, you're great with the horses, and I don’t wanna lose my sis,” the ranch owner’s daughter says genuinely. “I would hate to see you leave because of my heartbreaker of a cousin. I've seen this play out so many times already, don't walk into that trap.”  
“I think that ship has sailed,” her friend admits out loud.  
  
The words startle the woman who speaks them just as much as they stun Jo; she didn't intend to share that with her new friend already. But now that the comment is hovering between them without a way to take it back, a part of her is glad it’s out there. Dean has been about the only thing on her mind since she first saw him. Not being able to talk about that with anyone was driving her mad. She needs to vent to someone, someone she can trust.  
  
In shock by the bombshell that Y/N just dropped, Jo turns her head to orient her big eyes towards the man in question. _That son of a bitch..._  
“Well, that didn't take long…” The cowgirl shakes her head, then looks her in the eye after her confession. It's clear she feels sorry for her friend. “I'll talk to him.”  
“No! Jo, please don't. Look, I didn't forget about your warning and I’m surely not going to act on these... feelings,” she guarantees, barely able to get out the word. “But I can't shut this off. It caught me by surprise as well.”  
“He tends to have that effect on women,” Jo mutters.  
“I won't do anything stupid,” Y/N assures her.  
Jo glances at the intern from under her hat. “Promise?”  
  
She looks backs at her new friend. Honestly, she isn’t sure if she’s strong enough to resist Dean, but this agreement might help her stick to the plan. The plan to complete her internship successfully and return home to start her own ranch. It's all she ever wanted, it has been her life goal for as long as she can remember. Is she really going to let some cowboy stop her from fulfilling that dream? A very handsome, sweet, and utterly irresistible cowboy, but nonetheless. She will reach for the stars and she will have her wish, nothing will stand in her way, not even him. And so a reassuring smile forms on her lips.  
“I promise.”


	7. Hide And Seek

Dean pulls his head out of the refrigerator with six bottles of Corona hooked between his fingers. After he straightens his back, he pops off the cap with an opener, repeating the action until all bottles are opened. He’s about to break out the whiskey for his uncle, when the ranch owner hobbles towards the bar. The wrangler doesn’t really register him, though, because as his hands work swiftly, he watches his crew. The group of young men and women laugh over a - without a doubt - exaggerated story told by Benny, as they down the first round of the evening. It's Friday and the night is still young. With a day off in foresight, the workers allow themselves to enjoy the evening to the fullest. Dean will go easy on the alcohol, he has the early shift tomorrow.  
  
Amongst the group of staff, there is one person in particular who brings a smile to his face. Y/N’s laughter carries through the saloon, mixing with the country music that comes from the jukebox. It’s a great sound, one that causes the corners of his mouth to creep up. Jo and Ash are teaching her how to play poker and so far she’s terrible at it, but that doesn't seem to matter. She’s having tons of fun and gets along great with the others. Still wearing a smile, Dean glances down when he pours the amber liquor into the whiskey glass, sets it down on the bar after which he slides it towards Bobby. As if he knows who is on the wrangler's mind, he glances over at the intern as well.  
“So how’s our ‘wannabe cowgirl’ doing?” the ranch owner wonders.

A chuckle rumbles deep down Dean’s throat. He remembers calling her that when he shared his concerns with Bobby on the night of her arrival.  
“She survived the first week,” he admits. “Y/N’s a good fit. Still has a lot to learn, but she works hard and she’s smart.”  
“So, what you're sayin’ is that the intern isn't a total disaster like you predicted?” Bobby continues, his brow raised.  
“You just wanna hear me say you were right, don't ya?” Dean returns, amused either way.  
Bobby’s face shows a glimpse of a smile while nursing the tumbler of whiskey.   
“Maybe.”  
The young man shakes his head grinning as he takes a swig from his Corona. “What I'm sayin’ is that you got lucky. You know this could have gone south,” he returns, not giving his uncle the satisfaction.  
“It could have,” the ranch owner admits. “But I had to get creative; talking about things going south.”

The tone of the conversation changes instantly, leaving a heavy silence. Smiles die, their heads dip down, and gone is the pleasant Friday night feel. Dean is fully aware of where this conversation is heading towards. The issue has been bothering him for an entire week now. He has to decide who of his men to let go  
“Have you made up your mind yet?” Bobby asks his right hand.  
Dean nods, letting a sigh slip from his lips. He feels like he’s about to snitch on a friend. But this is business, it's what's necessary for the ranch to survive. It’s not personal, and yet it is, because it’s pulling on his heartstrings when he pronounces the name.  
“Ash.” 

Dean’s eyes land on the group at the long table again. The Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie from Kentucky with tattoos on his arms and the wind in his hair is the one who has to go. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was the logical one. With the livestock reducing to only sixty cows and their calves, he will not have enough work to fill his day. What also weighs in, that Ash was hired last. Nevertheless, Gold Canyon is his home and he is a part of this family. He watches the guy, how he points out the pair of jacks in the open card game they are playing to teach the intern Texas Hold’em. The genuine smirk on his face is followed by a backhand down five when she wins. Poor dude, he has no idea what he’s about to lose.  
  
“I’ll break it to him after the weekend.”  
The voice of the old man, who seems to have aged during their chat, is sad and burdened. It's clear as a bell that laying off Ash is the last thing he wants for the bull rider, who he took under his wing half a decade ago. It’s a position Dean doesn't want his uncle in; the troubled ranch owner has enough on his plate as it is.  
“I’ll do it,” he offers.  
“Nah, I got this one, son,” Bobby says, reassuring him as he reaches across the bar to put a hand on his shoulder. “Join‘em, make the most of tonight.”  
  
His nephew nods while picking up the drunks, and heads for the table, after glancing at Bobby Singer another time. Dean swallows down the guilt and worry before he takes a seat, leaving his company oblivious to the dark clouds that are gathering above them.   
“So, how's it going? Do I have a new competitor yet?” he asks both Ash and Y/N while he gives out the beers.  
“I'm getting the hang of it,” she returns confidently, picking up the two cards Garth just dealt.  
Dean watches the young woman without her noticing, too focused on the game. Ash observes every action over the shoulder of his apprentice without helping her this time and is proud when she wins once again with three eights.  
“Beginners luck,” Jo scoffs, pushing the pot in her friend’s direction.  
“Keep telling yourself that.” Y/N grins at the blonde from across the table.

It’s Jo’s turn to shuffle when a group enters. Distracted by the squeaking sound of the double doors, Y/N looks up, noticing that Casey is amongst the guests. Ignoring the heavy feeling in her chest, she directs her eyes back to the cards, the bright smile on her lips toned down. Expecting Dean to have his eyes on his probable fix for tonight, her gaze wanders. He noticed the pretty brunette, but it’s not Casey he’s looking at. As Y/N glances over, so does he, and they both seem to feel caught for busting each other. She cannot help but wonder why he would be checking on her, though. Was he curious about her response?   
  
“Hey, handsome.”  
Dean smiles up at Casey, who positions herself behind his chair, laying her delicate hands on his shoulders as she kisses him on the cheek. He forces himself to come off as sincere, but there’s an anchor restraining him.  
“Hey,” he responds. “Had a nice ride?”  
“I did. Would have been better if you were there,” she flirts.

The game continues, but Jo doesn't deal for him, assuming that the two are going to leave for the bunkhouse anyway, like they usually do whenever Casey is here. After giving out the cards, the ranch owner's daughter peeks up from her hand, noticing her friend, who tries to mask the annoyance and disappointment to what is happening on the other end of the table. When she looks up, Jo’s brown eyes lock on hers as she lifts her chin shortly, the mimic asking if her friend is okay. Y/N nods and fakes a smile, but loses this game anyway.

“Hey, you wanna get outta here? To have another sort of ride,” Casey whispers in Dean’s ear as she leans in.  
He gulps down his beer and sets down the bottle. Her offer should sound tempting, then why isn't he intrigued? Instinctively, his eyes slip over to Y/N again. She seems to be concentrated on the game of poker, but she’s not at ease like she was a minute ago. This time she doesn't grant him any recognition of his existence.  
“I - uh…” he starts, brought back to the conversation when Casey softly massages his tense shoulder muscles. “I had a busy week and I have to work tomorrow, so I'm gonna hit the hay early.”  
“I can come along and help you relax,” she presses, now wrapping her arms around his neck.

Y/N picks up on Casey’s offer and grinds her teeth. Suddenly she’s angry with herself. How could she be so stupid to let herself get swooned off her cowboy boots by that _ scumbag _ ? Sure, she fought it, she denied it, but at the same time, she found hope in every smile he threw at her, in his flirts and compliments. _ How could you possibly think for even one short second that he only has eyes for you?! What makes you so special? _

When Y/N loses to Benny again, she glances at her watch. Ten past nine; it's not too late to train with Meadow. She was reluctant to leave the fun a moment ago, but now leaving the Saloon seems like the best idea she has had all week. Y/N gets up, attracting confused looks from the company.  
“You're leaving?” Jo assumes.  
“Yeah, I still have to train Meadow,” Y/N excuses.  
“You're gonna ride _ now _ ?” Dean responds, perplexed. “We were just having fun.”  
“No one ever improved their skills by getting plastered and by just having fun, Dean,” she responds, his name coming out with a sneer. “If you want to own it, you've got to work for it.”

The cowgirl gets up and pushes the chair back under the table, the sound of its legs scratching the wooden floor breaking the silence. As she turns around to leave, her eyes meet Jo’s, who has a ‘you tell’im, girl!’ grin on her face. The doors flap after she walks through them, and the men at the table chuckle.  
“She's a diehard, that’s for sure,” Ash says.   
“Yeah...” Dean acknowledges, confused. “She is."

He watches her go for a few more seconds, determined strides, frustration in the sound of her footsteps. What the hell was that all about? For someone who claims to be strictly business, she turned pretty defensive when Casey got a little clingy. Oh, he caught the true meaning behind her words, alright. Is she really implying that if he wants her, he has to step up his game? If that’s the case, this might actually be a good thing. Yes, she’s annoyed with him right now, but this could mean he has an actual shot.  
  
“So, what do you say?” Casey asks again, pressing a seducing kiss in his neck.  
He glances up at the gorgeous young woman. She is pretty, wavy brown hair frames her flawless face, some freckles sprinkled on her nose and cheeks. Under that blue blouse and bootcut jeans, there is the body of a pinup girl. One who knows how to get a man’s engine running, which he had the pleasure of experiencing more than once. Dark, lustful eyes tell him all about what she has in store for him once she gets him alone. Yet for the first time, he’s not interested.  
“I'm gonna have to pass,” Dean decides.  
Somewhat stunned, Casey keeps a hold of the wrangler’s gaze, giving him a second to reconsider. When he doesn't, she creates a little distance and straightens her back.  
“Alright then,” she huffs. “Your loss.”  
  
The brunette strides away towards the bar, leaving the poker players in awkward silence. Ash and Garth follow the gorgeous beauty with their eyes, then simultaneously turn their heads to look at Dean, perplexed.  
“Dude, did you just piss off two women in one minute? That's impressive, even for you,” Ash comments.  
Jo snorts, her beer almost coming from her nose. Dean glares at her.  
“What?” she counters. “You just turned down a female specimen of the human race. We should call 12 News.”  
“Are you done?” Dean replies, agitated.  
Before Jo can throw in another cocky counter, Benny lays down a flush and gets up as he clears his throat.  
“If you kids will excuse me. I've got a fish to reel in. Keep the change."  
  
He winks at Dean, who nods back at his friend as a sign of consent. The head wrangler held his part of the agreement, and Benny is going to take full advantage of that. He watches how the farrier settles down on the barstool next to Casey, complimenting the beautiful girl with his irresistible accent, after which he offers her a drink.   
“That slick Southern bastard, he’s going to have her in his bed before she knows it,” Ash says, eying at the pair with an impressed look on his face, but then he rises from his seat. “How about some pool, y’all?”  
Garth gets up to follow him, but Dean declines.  
“I'll be right up,” Jo promises.  
  
When the guys move over, Jo corners her cousin. She gets up, walks around the long table and feels his forehead.  
“Jo, don't be ridiculous.” He smacks her hand away. “I'm not sick.”  
“Then what the hell is going on with you?” she asks, confronting. “Casey is your usual set of hooters to honk. Since when do you just turn that down?”  
“Since now,” the head wrangler answers shortly.  
“Why?”  
The head wrangler sighs annoyed. “Because I got bored.”   
“Because your eye caught something shinier,” Jo corrects. “Dean, Y/N is off limits.”  
“Says who?!” he argues.  
“Says _me_!”  
“You can't tell me who I can or can't--”  
“- fuck and dump when you're done with her?" his little cousin interveans. "Yeah, I can! She's my friend, damn it!”  
“Your _friend_?” Dean scoffs, fighting with Jo as siblings would. “You barely know her. This is her fifth day!”  
“Since when is there a mandatory minimum time on friendship?” she cries out. “I care about her and you know just as well as I do that she’s gonna end up with the trash like Casey.”  
Dean shrugs, finding her arguments invalid. “Casey doesn’t give a shit.”  
“But Y/N _will,_” Jo brings to mind. “You will leave her a heartbroken mess when you’re done with her. She’ll go home cryin’ and you know damn well we’re gonna need her.”  
  
That comment triggers Dean to furrow his brow. Being the daughter of the owner has its perks. Apparently, she’s aware of the financial problems that are threatening the company.  
“How much do you know?” Dean questions with a lowered voice.  
“I know there's gonna be a layoff and that we are gonna need all the free help we can get,” Jo states, whispering.  
The head wrangler sighs, checking on his crew at the pool table. His eyes linger when he spots Ash, who pockets number thirteen and repositions himself behind the white ball for his next turn.  
“Dean, you can't afford to screw around,” his cousin adds.  
_I’m not screwing around_, is on the tip of his tongue, but he keeps his mouth shut. He’s not going to let his cousin in on something he doesn’t understand himself.  
“She's not going anywhere, I'll make sure of that,” Dean assures, calmer than a moment ago.  
“She better not, ‘cause if she does, that’s gonna be on you.”  
  
With those words, the youngest Singer gets up and heads for the pool table as well. Dean watches her, staying behind with only his beer for company. Burdened, he drops his head, his jaw tensing. _Great. _One of his good friends is going to get fired next week, he doesn't feel like blowing off steam with Casey, and Jo won't even allow him to be with the girl he’s after. Not that she's falling for his usual tricks, anyway. _Just fucking great._   
  
With a sigh he downs his beer, which lost its spark, causing him to make a face at the bland taste. Then he gets up and exits the Saloon. Leaving the muffled sounds of music, conversation, and laughter behind, he slouches down the porch. The evenings are pleasantly warm, now that the monsoon season is reaching the home stretch. The night sky is so clear, that a thick ribbon of stars meanders across, the absence of light pollution allowing the Milky Way to shine brightly.   
Going over tonight’s decisions once again, Dean heads towards the bunkhouse, when two individuals catch his eye. About a hundred yards ahead, Benny has his arm around Casey as they stroll up to the front door. Before he opens it, she tiptoes when the farrier turns towards her, meeting him in a hot kiss.   
“Benny, you sly dog,” Dean grins.  
  
Surely, he grants his friend the home run, but a part of him thinks of passing up Casey as a loss, now that he will be left empty-handed. The early night isn't going to happen either, since Benny’s room is next to his. He halts as the two enter the bunkhouse, passionately making out, then he breathes out a humid cloud of air. No way in hell he is going to listen to those two banging their heads against the backboard for the rest of the evening. Dean turns around, considering to head back to the Saloon, but then he notices the lighted outdoor arena. He almost forgot; Y/N is still at the barn. Maybe this evening does not have to be a total loss after all. Jo’s voice whales in the back of his mind, but it doesn't stop him from heading over. He’s just going to have a talk to clear the air, no harm in that, right?  
  
Under the stars, he strolls towards the outdoor arena, listening to the crickets which chirp loudly in the dry grass. The two lanterns spread brightness over the otherwise dark and deserted lands, creating long shadows on the ground where the fencing blocks the rays. A horse moves steadily on a large circle, relaxed and in harmony with her rider. Y/N has not noticed Dean yet, too concentrated to pick up on the spectator. There is a peacefulness in the air that distracts him from the troubles on his mind. The coolness of the night causes Meadow to breathe out warm clouds with every third beat of the gait, leaving a misty trail behind her, like a steam train puffing out clouds rhythmically. The silhouette of horse and rider passes by the fence every time they come between the wrangler and the light is as if he’s watching an eclipse. It brings a smile to the cowboy’s face. Bobby was right; Y/N is talented.   
  
Slowly, he strolls up to the gate, moving into the yellow rays coming from the high masts. This time she does notice him and eyes the head wrangler, perplexed. He is the last person she expected to see here at this hour, especially since Casey couldn't wait to drag him away to do all kinds of dirty things to him.  
“H - hey,” she stammers, half surprised, half confused.  
“How is she doing?” he wonders while nodding at the horse, more to get the conversation going.   
Suddenly self-conscious about every move she makes, Y/N sits back slightly and lets her mare transition to an easy walk, loosening the reins and petting her on the shoulder with her free hand.  
“She’s good, a little fresh,” she responds. “I didn't expect you here.”  
“I was on my way to the bunkhouse, saw the lights,” Dean explains casually.  
  
The rider barely smiles at that, still unsure how to behave around him after the way she left the Saloon thirty minutes ago. An awkward silence follows and she decides to continue her training to keep busy. With a forward motion of the hand and a small aid with the legs, Meadow swiftly pushes into a lope, head down and light on the bit, as she should be. The muscles of the well-developed Quarter horse roll under her shiny coat with every stride, flexing and relaxing again. It might look like child’s play, and yet Y/N was less nervous for the Nationals last year than she is now. She can feel Dean’s eyes on her, watching every move closely.   
  
As he does, the wrangler climbs the steel fence, hooking his heels behind the middle bar and resting the palm of his hands on the top one for balance. Intrigued, he observes the training, reading into her skills. Now that she’s aware of him, her riding seems a little stiffer than it was before. Is she actually nervous now that he's here? His presumption is confirmed when she turns in the other direction halfway in a circle through a flying change. Her timing is far from perfect and the horse changes from a left to a right lope a stride too late, unable to translate the aid into an action before the perfect moment mid-stride. Despite the mistake, Y/N tussles Meadow’s manes. For a second Dean wonders if it’s because she didn't recognize the timing being off, but then she performs the exercise again, nailing it this time. Dean smiles at that, content with her method of training. Meadow did exactly what her rider inquired of her, it was the rider who inquired wrong. Where plenty would have corrected the horse or even punished it, Y/N didn't, because she was very much aware that it was a human error. After only a couple of minutes, he has a pretty good idea what kind of rider she is. Truly feeling what happens under the saddle is something most people will never get down. It’s almost like an extra sense, a skill only so many equestrians have. Y/N is one of those gifted equestrians. How she handled that communication error, is what separates horse riding from horsemanship.   
  
Satisfied, Y/N uses her seat to bring Meadow back to an easy walk, after which Y/N lets her move around freely; the mare is done for today. Now that her horse doesn't require her full attention any more, she is forced to deal with the handsome yet overbearing spectator. _Why on earth is he even here? Isn't he supposed to be getting laid right now?_ Oh yes, seeing him with Casey rubbed her the wrong way. She’s fully aware of that fact, and he probably is too. Should she have let him push her buttons like that? No. Was it his intention to mess her up? Probably not. Was she overreacting when she barked at him back at the Saloon? Maybe a little.   
  
“Feel better now?” he asks out of the blue.  
Y/N furrows her brow, glancing over when she rides by his spot on the fence, trying to sense in which direction he is going. “What do you mean?”  
Dean shrugs, dropping his gaze to the sand for a moment. “For me, a good ride usually works as a stress reliever, and you seemed on edge earlier.”  
As the rider cools down Meadow by walking her on a free rein, she considers her options carefully before she speaks. Darn, so he did notice. Then again, the sneer she fired at him was hard to miss. Denying it isn't going to do her much good, so she might as well skip past it.  
“I'm fine. Who needs meditation when you spend time on the back of a horse, right?” she replies.  
  
She wasn't keeping up an appearance, because Dean is right. Her mood did change for the better the moment she opened the stable door and was greeted by her four-legged friend. By the time she settled on her back, the whole thing seemed silly and unimportant.   
“Especially on a horse like that. She’s good,” Dean compliments. “The rider could use a lesson or two…”  
Y/N stares at him over her shoulder self consciously, turning Meadow around to face the cowboy. _Is he serious?_ But when she spots the smirk on the wrangler’s face, followed by the subtle wink, she cannot help but chuckle.  
“Let me guess: you should be the one teaching me,” she fills in.  
“I can't think of anyone more capable,” he grins, his eyes sparkling like the stars above.  
“Of course you can't,” she laughs as Meadow halts, allowing her to swing her leg over the back and smoothly lower herself until her feet reach the ground.  
  
Glad to have gotten rid of the awkwardness, Dean gets down from the fence and opens the gate. Y/N leads the Quarter mare to the tack up area under the tree and her company follows, hitting the light switch when he passes it. The arena spots die down, leaving the only light to come from inside the barn together with the moon and galaxy above. As she takes off Meadow’s bridle and replaces it with a leather halter, she cannot help but to analyze herself. When she angrily speed-walked from the Saloon to the stable with her fists clenched in her pockets, she was calling Dean out for being a dirty scumbag with no respect for women whatsoever. But now that he’s here and apparently still takes an interest in her, a part of her is thrilled by that matter, and steadily overrules.  
  
_Y/N, you know better than this! He just wants to get in your pants! He will dispose of you like an empty coffee container when he’s done with you! _She continues the inner dialogue while loosening the girth, after which she lifts the heavy saddle off Meadow’s back.  
  
“I got it,” Dean says, taking over the twenty-five-pound load.  
He holds the back of the saddle on his hip, balancing it by gripping the gullet. As if it weighs nothing at all, the wrangler heads to the tack room. Amused, Y/N watches him from under her Stetson hat, her eyes taking him in from top to bottom. _Oh, you just cannot help yourself, can you?_ Meadow snorts impatiently and rubs her head against her shoulder. She is making herself perfectly clear; the Queen doesn't have time for this and wants to get to her hay, pronto. After a quick brush Y/N leads her to her stable and puts a rug on the horse to protect her from the cold in the early hours. Buried in thoughts, she enters the tack room where Dean is about to put the saddle away. She watches him push the saddle upon the highest rack on the wall, his strong arms working under his plaid shirt.   
  
“Can I ask you something?” she wonders while she stores away the brushes, leg protection, and bridle.  
“Shoot,” he says, as the two of them exit the room, which the head wrangler locks up.  
The cowgirl hesitates, her footsteps suddenly loud and obvious when she begins to walk down the hall between the stables. “It might be a little straightforward--”  
“Really? You being straightforward?” he interrupts, a smug grin on his face. “Now, that I wasn't expecting.”   
She glares at the handsome cowboy, but can't suppress the smile either. The sarcasm is practically dripping off his comment and she bumps her shoulder into his.  
“Watch it,” she warns. “You’re not entirely on my good side yet.”  
A last glance into the quiet stable is sufficient to reassure Dean that the horses are alright until the final feeding round. He leaves the light on for his uncle and exits the barn through the large doors.  
“Yeah, about that. What did I do to make you storm off?”  
  
The two of them walk out, back to the tack up area. For a moment Y/N thinks of an answer, but nothing that she can come up with sounds reasonable. To be fair, she’s not even sure if she’s ready to admit why she got so frustrated with him. Dean is a free man, who can see whoever and do whatever he pleases. Yet when Casey put her arms around him and got intimate, she felt a prick in her heart. Her stupid, _stupid_ heart wanted to be the one close to him, even though her smart mind is trying to keep it together and do the respectable thing.   
“It was nothing, really,” she excuses, not giving him much of an explanation.   
  
Dean glances aside, reading into the doubt in her voice. What is it, that she doesn't want to tell him? Could it be, that in that moment, she was jealous of Casey? He thinks about it for a second, as he slowly strolls to the big Joshua tree in the center of the square. He has played a lot of girls, but that sure as hell was not what he was doing here. He never intended to lure Y/N out of hiding, though her response to the situation raises a question. If watching him and another girl really bothered her that much, does that mean that she is interested in him? Confused, he bites the inside of his cheek as he halts.  
“What did you want to ask me?” he wonders.  
  
For a moment there, she was lost in her own mind, but then Y/N redirects her focus and turns around to face him. Curious, he observes the young woman as he leans against the bark of the tall Yucca tree. The sight of Mister Green Eyes wonderingly looking over, forces her to take a breath before she speaks. Stars reflect in his pupils, the moon painting their surroundings in a silver hue. It reminds her of the hills back home, covered in frost at the arrival of winter. Dean’s short hair has been tousled by the hat he took off and now holds by the brim. The up-to-no-good smile is gone, but he seems content either way. _God, isn't he lovely. _Annoyed with herself for thinking such things, she looks down, figuring that not being mesmerized by his gorgeous looks might help her keep it together.   
  
“I was just wondering…” she starts insecure. “I - I mean, you and Casey… Are you two…?”  
Dean frowns at the presumption. So it _was_ about Casey.   
“Together? No.” He huffs, unable to picture it. “She and some friends rent a house here for a week or two a year to blow off some steam. We’ve hooked up a couple of times whenever she comes over, but it doesn't mean anything.”  
  
Y/N digests the information and keeps her gaze pinned on the hat in his hands. It doesn't mean _anything_. _It doesn't mean anything_. See? He doesn't care about Casey and he surely won't care about her either. But if he doesn't care for Casey, she doesn’t have to compete with anyone. Wait... She’s not actually considering making a move, is she? _Y/N, you are under no circumstances making a move!_ she tells herself sternly. _God, this is what schizophrenia must feel like._  
  
Trying to distract herself from the voices in her head, she carries on with the conversation. “I'm sorry for asking. I know it’s none of my business, but I - I cannot help to wonder…”  
Now she does look up, a little shocked when she realizes how close Dean is. His eyes are on her, peeling away the layers as he tries to make sense of what she’s struggling to say.  
“If Casey is at the ranch, why are you here with me?”  
  
Stunned, Dean keeps a hold of her gaze. She isn’t asking the obvious, but that is a damn good question. Casey offered herself on a silver plate back in the Saloon. Dean never experienced much trouble with the ladies, yet the brunette, in particular, couldn't wait to open her legs for the wrangler. He could have had her in his bed right now, letting her do all kinds of delightful things to him. Yet here he is, opposite of the girl that has been giving him a hard time from the get-go. The thought of Casey did nothing for him, he simply wasn’t interested in the regular ranch guest. Why is that? Brought out of balance by the question, he chuckles nervously and breaks eye contact, fiddling with the brim of his hat again. Slowly it starts to sink in. Why he would much rather be here with Y/N under the Joshua tree. Why he felt the need to protect her from Benny’s lust. Why he lost interest in any other girl. Why every wandering thought, every daydream he had in the past week, was somehow about the one person standing before him.  
  
He looks up at her again and something within him changes. A tightness in his chest that he has never experienced before makes it difficult to swallow. It's unpleasant, scary even, but the sight of her waiting in wonder takes away the discomfort. The faint light from the night’s sky caresses her hair and smooth skin. A pair of gorgeous eyes framed with long lashes watch, traces of hesitation in them, but also curiosity. _God, she’s beautiful_, he thinks to himself.   
  
Dean fails to answer her question with words. He doesn't have to. His mouth falls open just a little as he looks deep into her eyes with an intensity she is unfamiliar with, simply because no one has ever looked at her like that before. As if only now he came to realize what is happening between the two of them.  
He can tell that she understands now, because her insecurity makes way for astonishment.   
“Oh…” she responds, flustered, a shy smile growing larger.  
  
He mirrors her expression without letting go of her gaze. His pupils bounce between hers as he leans in hesitatingly. Every fiber he consists of wants to kiss the enchanting cowgirl before him and he cannot stop his eyes from flicking down at her lips for just a moment, then up again. Would she let him? _What are you waiting for?__ Just go for it_, Dean lectures himself. This isn't the first time he’s kissed a girl, however, doubt overwhelms him. What if she pulls back? What if he ruins it? Could he handle that? Before the cowboy can decide to act or not to act, she looks down and lets out a shuddering breath, the anticipation becoming too much.   
  
“Are you cold?” he asks kindly, quickly covering up the awkwardness.  
She crosses her arms in front of her chest and nods. Not only did Meadow get a workout, so did her rider. Her clammy undershirt has turned stone cold and sends goosebumps down her arms. Or is it Dean who is doing that?  
“Let’s get inside. Wouldn't want you to catch something,” he suggests, not having a jacket to offer.  
  
She agrees to that, because the warmth of the bunkhouse sounds pretty good. In silence they stroll towards the cabin, her shoulders hunched in an attempt to keep the cold at bay, as Dean walks by her side. Overcome by the rush of mixed emotions, she glances at him from under her hat. He seems to be pondering, without a doubt going over the past minute. That one moment that Dean’s reason for wanting to be around her became clear, with nothing more than a look. _Holy mother, he was going to kiss you, and you glanced down? Why would you do that? What were you thinking?!_ She could kick herself in the head right about now. It was the responsible thing to do, to avoid things from getting complicated, to keep their relationship strictly business. But dear God, she wanted him to close that gap and press his lips on hers.   
  
Dean walks up the porch and opens the door, after which he holds the fly curtain aside so that Y/N can pass through. As soon as she steps into the bunkhouse, peculiar sounds coming from one of the rooms draw her attention. Squeaking in a steady pace mixed with moans of both male and female, followed by a muffled ‘oh yeah’ and ‘right there’. Dean, who was about to pull the door shut, freezes mid-action when the noise reaches his hearing. Well then, this situation just went through the awkward scale. Y/N slowly turns to him, eyes wide in shock as she mouths ‘Oh my god!’ and he can't contain the quiet laughter.  
  
“Who’s in there?” she whispers.  
“My two cents: Benny and Casey,” he replies, keeping his voice down.  
“Are you serious?” she returns, watching him shrug. “She lost no time, did she?”  
“Like I said: it didn't mean anything,” he assures, grinning at her judgment. “Besides, you’re much better company anyway.”  
Y/N can feel the heat rising to her face again. She opens her mouth to return the compliment, when the sounds from the other room intensify. _Dear Lord_, those two are really going at it.   
  
Dean chuckles, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “I'm gonna get some shut-eye, if I can with those rabbits next door.”  
“Yeah, me too,” she says, shaking her head as she makes a mental note to dig up a set of earplugs from her suitcase.  
In the doorway Y/N turns around, granting herself a last look at the man that is stealing her heart away. “Good night.”  
“G’night,” Dean returns with a soft voice, keeping a hold of her gaze as well until she shuts the door.  
  
The sounds of the couple in the other room is all that is left, a painful reminder of his loneliness. Could this evening have played out differently if he had kissed her? It probably could have. Shit, what if he wasted his only shot? For a few seconds the wrangler lingers, but then turns towards his room, where he sits down on the edge of his empty bed. Banning the noises of pleasure next door from his mind, Dean forks his fingers together as he leans his forearms on his knees. He's so confused by his own thoughts and how he’s responding to them, that he doesn't seem to know himself anymore. For some reason his conscience is telling him not to rush this, to take it one step at a time. What if for once in his life, this could grow into something more than just a fling? At the same time, another voice raises awareness for the mixed signals she’s been giving, because she hasn’t exactly sent him a private invitation. And even _if_ she does go along with it for a little while, what happens when she truly gets to know him? What happens when she learns about his tainted past, the family drama, his flaws and missteps? What happens when she sees him for who he truly is, under the mask and the pile of bullshit? The only reason why he can live with himself is because he swept the dirt under the carpet a long time ago and keeps pretending it's not there. When she knows, she will leave, he’s sure of it, and the thought of that alone scares him already. But it’s his heart that shouts the loudest, practically begging to throw himself at her. His heart which was rooting for that kiss. His heart which finally seems to have found what it had been silently waiting for.   
  
Pondering, Dean rubs his face and glances at the desk clock on his nightstand, which shows the time at 10.47 PM. Next to it, a picture stares back, portraying his Mom with her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling her four-year-old son against her chest lovingly. Like he has so many times over the years, he wishes she was still alive. Right about now, this lost wanderer could use someone to point him in the right direction.


	8. No One Wins Today

7.30 AM, Monday morning. Several hundred hooves tremble the ground. Earthy colored dust has turned into dark mud overnight as the heavens unleashed a rainstorm that still hasn't stopped from raging down. The cattle moos anxiously, trying to stick together as a herd. Bobby’s dog, Rumsfeld, barks over the sound of it all, his enthusiastic calls trumped by the shouts and whistles of the wranglers.   
"Yah!” Dean shouts, cutting off young stock that threatens to fan out.

Droplets as big as marbles fall from the grey sky, the water caught in the brim of his hat pouring from it whenever he tips it down. It’s unusually cold this morning without sunshine to burn the night away. The long, leather coat he’s wearing protects him from that, but the rain started coming through the seams on his shoulders and elbows two hours ago and a steady drip down his neck has drenched his shirt already. Dean has been in the saddle since four o'clock, ever since the thunder woke him up and an eerie gut feeling began to unsettle him. Something was wrong, he felt it in his bones. As he stepped out onto the porch, he immediately noticed the distressed young stock on the wrong side of the fence. Apparently, the cattle panicked in the thunderstorm, took down a gate, and escaped the pen, splitting the herd in two. They were absolutely all over the place, roaming over more than forty acres. With a buyer coming in at 9 AM, he had to gather the two hundred cows and bulls fast, if he wanted to avoid a financial disaster.  
So here they are; wet through, tired and miserable, trying to maneuver their horses on the slick surface. A perfect start for this dreadful Monday.  
  
A sharp whistle reverberates through the valley, requiring his attention. It's Bobby, looking over the mayhem from a small hill, calling his horse to a stand. “Dean, stragglers!”  
His head wrangler notices three steers swaying away from the herd. Dean turns from the tail of the group and pushes his horse forward, but immediately senses the loss of grip in the slippery mud. Led’s hind legs skid from under his body, forcing the buckskin to the ground. As the horse's knees buckle, the experienced rider decides in a split second not to leave the sinking ship. Instead, he skillfully sticks to the saddle like he’s glued to the leather, and moves his weight to level out the balance. At the same time, he pulls Led’s nose from the ground and gives enough free rein right after, simultaneously pushing his heels into the horse’s flanks, encourages him to give it his everything to get back on his feet. His quick thinking enables the stallion to break the fall and thankfully; Led steadies himself. Dean breathes out; that was way too close.  
  
“Well done, bud,” the rider soothes, ruffling the Quarter’s mane, glad that he was able to prevent a possibly painful crash.  
“Hell of a save,” Benny comments from several yards away. “You alright?”  
“I'm good,” Dean assures his best friend. “We need to round them up fast before this whole pasture turns into a mudslide.”  
  
He pushes Led forward, who picks up speed carefully, smart enough to not make the same mistake twice. It takes a while to make up for the lost time, but then he wings the three bulls, guiding them back to the group. Slowly but surely, the wranglers manage to maneuver the large number of animals back into another secured pen. It’s past eight o’clock when Jo closes the last gate and they can all take a breather. Too bad they cannot head back to bed just yet, the day has only just begun.  
“Next time you wake me up in the middle of the night, make sure it’s because there’s some hot gal waiting for me on my doorstep,” Ash mocks as he slows his horse down.  
Dean looks aside, grinning at the guy that’s in charge of the cattle. “You have enough problems controlling your cows, let alone women, Ash.”  
  
Benny laughs at that, so does Jo. He’s sure Bobby would have laughed at it too, if it wasn't for the troubling decision that has been made. The ranch owner rests his hand on the horn, taking in his dream team as the rain finally stops falling. Today is the day that he will sell over three-fourths of his cattle. Decades of blood, sweat and tears, sold for a dime. Damage control, they call that. It ain't pretty, but it’s necessary to prevent this place from drowning. What else is necessary is cutting down on personnel. Collateral damage is the term, Bobby believes. There’s that word again: _damage_.  
“Is Rufus still dropping by at nine?” Dean, who held up his horse to ride next to his uncle, checks with him.  
“Yeah, but you know Rufus. Could be eleven just as well,” Bobby mutters, aware of his old friend’s carelessness.  
“Better ask Ellen to break out the Johnny Walker Blue if you're aiming for a good price,” his right hand suggests, before he halts at the tack up area.  
  
The sound of horseshoes splashing on the wet surface draws Y/N’s attention. She parks her broom against the stable wall and peeks around the corner, spotting the wranglers under the Yucca tree, which seems to cry silently as tears of rain drip down from its branches.  
“Garth! They're here!” she shouts at the stable boy on the other side of the barn.  
The slender guy pops his head out of a stall, then walks out and closes the door behind him. Like the wranglers, he and the intern got up at four in the morning as well. During the weekend the stables aren't mucked out, which adds to the work on Monday, and with Bobby, Jo and Dean handling the breakout, the two of them had to feed and turn out the animals as well. Getting up early was the only way to get all the work done without falling behind.   
  
As the dark rain clouds pass, everyone on the square gets off their horses. Y/N walks up to Bobby, sensing the low morale. No wonder, because all five wranglers are soaked, probably sore and tired too.  
“I got him.” She takes over his chestnut named Seger. “Ellen has breakfast ready for you.”  
“Thank you, Darlin’,” the old man mumbles, stiffly making his way to the cafeteria.  
  
While tying up Seger, Y/N watches the ranch owner hobble off, wondering why he seems so burdened. When she glances back to loosen the horse’s cinch, a handsome cowboy catches her eye on the other side of the chestnut. Dean takes off Led’s bridle, the last waterdrops rolling from the dip of his hat. Mud splatters have sprayed across his leather overcoat, his boots covered in dirt. There are smudges on his face, along with a weekend stubble still on his strong jaw. The knuckles of his firm hands have a blue shade, so do his lips; he must be so cold after four hours in the pouring rain. With sympathy, she looks at him.   
“Hell of a morning, huh?” she comments, trying to make small talk.  
  
Dean looks up and pauses his action. He seems a little surprised by her voice, as if only just now he realized she was behind the horse next to him. The line parting his lips breaks in a small smile. It’s the first time he hears her use a word as such. His language is terrible, he throws in a variation of the words ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ wherever it fits. But Y/N on the other hand, coming from upstate, says ‘gosh’ at most, and uses terms such as ‘for heaven’s sake’, which he finds quite cute. Apparently she’s adapting to her company.   
  
The wrangler scoffs. “You can say that again.”  
He unbuckles the cinch and removes the saddle from Led’s back. The mud sticking to the saddle pad is hard to miss and it catches the intern’s eye. Led must have hit the ground at some point, how else would the animal have dirt caked thick in his coat on his entire side?  
“Did you fall?” she asks.  
Dean chuckles, slightly amused, while he puts the heavy saddle on the bar his horse is tied to as well. He heard that, the worry in her voice.  
“Led slipped, but he was able to steady himself,” he reassures.  
  
The cowboy returns his focus to the buckskin next to him as he turns the faucet of the water source. Led might be wet through just like his rider, but he’s covered in filth as well, and that's no way to bring a horse back to his stable. He quickly hoses down his Quarter, while Y/N washes Seger’s feet. When she’s done, she follows Benny and Jo as they return their horses to the stable. Coming back to pick up the saddle, Y/N finds her supervisor crouched down next to Led’s left front leg.  
“Shit…” he curses, feeling the cannon bone.  
  
The saddle is left on the bar. Instead, Y/N comes to see what Dean is annoyed with. With just one glance she can determine the swelling on the back of the leg, a little above the fetlock joint.  
“Tendon?” she assumes, petting the horse on the shoulder.  
Dean carefully feels the tissue, causing Led to flinch. It’s painful, but with all the fluid that is building up around the injury, it’s hard to tell what exactly is causing the reaction.   
“Could be. He seemed sound after he tripped,” the wrangler contemplates. “Can you jog him?”  
“Sure,” she replies, after which she unties the horse.  
  
Y/N leads the beautiful Quarter in a straight line and starts to run after a few yards. With the first stride it’s already clear that Led is anything but even. Only the _ click-clack _ sound of Led’s shoes on the surface is enough to state the obvious.   
“Well, that ain't good,” Dean sighs as Y/N walks the palomino back.  
“You didn't feel him at all?” she checks with the wrangler.  
“The poor bastard must have worked through the pain. He’s a tough horse,” Dean ponders, running his hand down Led’s face with sympathy. “I'll cool his leg for a while. Can you get a rug for him?”  
“What about you?”   
He shrugs selflessly. “I’ll skip breakfast.”  
“You’re not skipping breakfast. You've been working nonstop since four AM, you deserve a break,” Y/N decides, strong-minded. “I have cooling leg boots which Led can wear while he's stabled. It works better than cooling with water.”  
“Alright then.” He smiles, appreciating her firm response.  
  
He takes over his horse and leads Led back to the barn without hasting him. Silently, Dean turns the Quarter in as his intern walks to the tack room to get the leg wrap and a rug, followed by a stop at the cafeteria to pick up two cool packs from the freezer. On her way over, she notices the handsome wrangler staring at nothing in particular, lost in thoughts. His fingers absently rub Led’s withers, who on his turn bends his neck and seeks the cowboy’s free hand, nuzzling his nose against his skin, as if he is trying to comfort his rider in return. Although it’s a heartwarming sight to see the man having a moment with the beautiful animal, Y/N can sense something is off about him. Not that she knows him all that well, but she can tell that he’s carrying a crippling weight. He’s quiet, for one. No smart answers or perky remarks that could easily be mistaken for flirting. There is also something about his eyes, something weary.   
  
“Here you go,” she says, handing over the boot.  
Dean takes it and straps around the injured leg, while Y/N lays a fleece rug on Led’s back to prevent the horse from cooling down too fast. When the wrangler rises to his feet and lets his fingers glide through Led’s golden coat while waiting for her to secure the rug, the silence is awfully evident.   
“Are you okay?” she asks carefully.  
Dean glances up, caught off guard by the question. For a moment he reckons she’s asking because of the almost crash and now Led’s injury, but when his eyes meet hers, he sees that the question is more layered than that. His first instinct is to throw her a cocky comment, that a little mud isn't ever going to bring him down, but he decides against it. He’s not sure if his hesitation is caused by her ability to read between the lines, but the young man suddenly feels vulnerable, intimidated even.  
“Yeah, I'm fine,” he says. “Let’s eat. Don't know about you, but I'm starving.”  
She fakes a smile. Of course, she could eat after a morning like today, but she was hoping Dean would take the opportunity to get it off his chest.   
  
A pleasant heat and the smell of bacon and toast welcome them like it does every working day, when Y/N pushes open the door to the cozy personnel hangout. Ellen’s breakfast is always something to look forward to, but today it’s a true gift from heaven. The rest of the crew sits down after having changed into dry clothes and wait impatiently for their bacon and eggs, as Bobby finishes his plate first. When the door creaks, Ellen looks up from behind the stove.  
“Oh honey, look at you,” she says when Dean follows you inside. “Did you drown out there? You're soaked through.”  
Her nephew hangs his dripping coat and Sheplers on the hat rack above the heater and is welcomed by his aunt with a clean towel, a warm flannel and a pair of jeans  
“Why don't you freshen up first and put on some dry clothes. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold,” she insists.  
“Thanks, Ellen.” Dean takes the neatly folded pile from her arms after which he places a short, genuine kiss on her hair and moves to the backroom to change.  
  
Y/N can't help but smile when she sits down, delighted to witness the wrangler’s soft side for the second time today. The warmth spreads through her like the hot coffee that she swallows down and settles in the pit of her stomach. She folds her fingers around the mug as she takes another sip, peering over the edge at the man she is losing her heart to as he closes the door behind him. A kick against the shin awakens her from a trance, the action causing her to almost choke on her coffee. Jo sits across the table, her deadly glare demanding to get it together. Flustered and caught, Y/N averts her gaze at the plate that Ellen just set down under her nose.   
“Dig in while it’s still warm, sweety,” she insists, oblivious of how the intern feels about her nephew.  
  
Y/N does so, partly as an excuse to not look Jo in the eye and be confronted with her judgment. But when Dean enters the room again, cleaned up and wearing a comfortable red plaid flannel, she just has to take him in for a second. Before Jo can kick her leg again, someone knocks on the glass window from outside the cafeteria. Everyone looks up at the doorway when an old friend of Bobby’s appears.  
“Well, I'll be damned,” Ellen says, delighted. “If it ain't Rufus Turner.”  
The African American with a pearl white smile and a rascal look in his eyes enters the cafeteria.  
“Ellen Singer, you haven't changed a bit.” Rufus takes his hat off for her, but then he turns to face her husband at the head of the table. “But you on the other hand,” he pats Bobby on the back, “- you got old.”  
  
The joke attracts a laugh from the others.  
“Good to see you too, Rufus,” the ranch owner responds.  
“Grab a plate and dig in. There’s plenty,” Ellen offers.  
“I’d love to, but if you don't mind, I wanna get down to business. I've got places to be later.” He puts his hat back on and turns to the rest of the company. “Mind if I steal him for a bit?”  
“By all means, steal away.” Ellen smiles politely.  
  
Bobby gets up and excuses himself. When he has left the room, the workers finish their breakfast. Nobody says anything, and although Y/N doesn't understand what has caused the grim mood, she keeps her mouth shut. Instead, she takes in the people surrounding her. Jo, Ellen, and Dean seem to ignore the elephant in the room, while Garth, Benny and Ash exchange puzzled looks. Rufus’s visit to the ranch has stirred things up. Who is he? A business partner? A trader, maybe?  
  
When the break is over and the crew gets back to work, the air is more suffocating than it is on a hot day. It has nothing to do with the weather, though.  
“Why is Bobby selling stock?”  
It’s Ash who asks as the gang walks down to the paddocks between the stables. The question breaks the silence, but it also adds to the tension. Jo and Dean exchange a look, but both keep quiet, which isn’t sufficient for the worker with the odd haircut.  
“That’s why Rufus is here, ain’t it?” Ash pushes, a worry in his tone that seems foreign for the carefree guy.   
The head wrangler sighs and turns to his friend.   
“Look, business has been slow, y’all know that. Rufus is here to discuss the value of the cattle, to explore our options,” Dean tries to reassure not just him, but the rest of his staff.  
When he can read from Ash’s face that his reassurance doesn’t have much effect, he adds a few words he might regret later. “No need to worry just yet. We’ll figure it out. Now let’s get to work.”  
  
And so everyone does, some left with a few questions, but the leader of the team has managed to take away most of the concern. All this time, the intern hasn’t said a word. The young woman with a master’s degree in business and a nose for bullcrap only observes. She observes Dean, when he glances at his cousin, troubled, right after Ash walks off to fill the hay barn in the main pastures. She observes Jo, who looks at the ground and keeps quiet, as the two of them walk over to the paddocks to turn the horses in. She observes Bobby Singer and Rufus Turner, who are seated on the back porch of the house, accompanied by a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, tied up in a dialogue that seems to be a negotiation more than it is a casual chat. She observes the handshake, the ‘glad to do business with you’ grin on Rufus’s face opposite of the defeat in the ranch owner’s eyes. So much for not needing to worry just yet.

~~~

The early morning rain has cooled down the dusty lands and doesn’t allow the temperature to rise like it did the previous days. Clouds keep rolling in from the east, cutting off the sun. This weather suits Y/N better and she works extra hard now that her body doesn’t seem like it’s overheating. It gives her a good feeling that she is able to take some of the load from the other workers. Dean even allowed her to train two of the horses, since he had a meeting with Bobby. He didn’t return until an hour before supper. After dinner, Benny and Garth head to the shed to fix the tractor, that on top of everything else, started spilling oil. The rest of the crew is about to retreat back to the bunkhouse, when Bobby calls back one of the workers.  
“Ash?” he says, his voice matching his serious expression. “Can you come into my office?”  
“Sure thing, boss,” he responds, joining the ranch owner.  
  
Dean can read from Ash’s facial expression that he’s uneasy, but doesn’t have a clue what is coming for him. The ranch hand who is in charge of the cattle probably assumes that Bobby is going to update him on the reason why Rufus was here. Shit, he wishes it was just a simple briefing. Poor bastard…  
The head wrangler exhales as he walks on, shaking off the cold that hasn’t seemed to leave his body after the rainy morning. Jo follows him silently, kicking the clotty earth with her dragging feet, hands shoved down in the pockets of her denim jacket. Y/N is on his other side, wonderingly looking over at them every now and then. She has kept quiet long enough. So when they step up the stairs to the porch first, she drops the bomb.  
“So, Ash is getting sacked, huh?”  
Dean has stopped in his tracks and instantly shoots an angry glare at Jo. “You told her?!”  
“I didn’t tell her jack shit!” she counters, insulted.   
  
“She didn’t need to, Dean,” Y/N backs her up, having turned around before opening the front door. “Livestock sales have plummeted nationwide, yet Bobby is selling now, so times must be desperate. With no cattle to handle it’s only logical that Ash will be let go in order to cut down on costs. I have a business degree, remember? I can do the math. Here, you guys look like you can use these.”  
During her flood of words, she had strolled to the fridge, taken out three beers, and popped the caps off with an opener. Not sure if he should be impressed or feel threatened by the intern’s knowledge, Dean takes the drink and has a swig of the brew. She’s right about more than a few things; he needed a beer.  
  
“Is Bobby breaking it to him now?” she wonders.  
Dean glances over at Jo, who leans back against the kitchen sink, nursing her bottle. It’s not something they would usually discuss with interns, but since she already seems to be fully aware of the situation and he trusts that she will keep this between them, he confirms with a nod.  
“Damn…” Y/N ponders, biting her lip as her eyes drift away to nothing in particular. “How long has he been here?”  
“For about five years now,” Jo thinks back, clearly sad about having to say goodbye to a good friend. “I can remember the day he arrived. He caught Dad’s eye at the Holbrook Rodeo, where he worked in the arena. He couldn’t keep a job long enough to rent himself a roof over his head, mostly because of his looks and his ‘fuck you’ attitude, but he was good with the bulls. That’s when Dad asked him to come work for him and for the first time, Ash found a place where he belonged. He’s been here ever since. Never stayed in one spot this long. Mom and Dad have a habit of taking the misfits under their wings.”  
  
It’s quiet for a few long seconds, as Dean recalls Ash’s early days on the property. Then he goes back further, to the day he himself set foot on these lands, with nowhere else to go. They did exactly the same for him as they did for Ash; offered him a comfortable bed, warm food, a rewarding job. A safe haven where they didn’t have to worry about how to get through tomorrow, where they didn’t have to be scared. One would perhaps expect Bobby and Ellen to take Dean in, him being their nephew. But it didn’t matter that the funny looking bullfighter called Ash wasn’t related. He became family, too.  
  
“How do you think he’s going to take it?”  
It’s Y/N who breaks Dean’s train of thought.  
He ponders for a moment before he answers. “I dunno. He’s a pretty chill guy these days, but this is so much more than just a job.”  
Dean pauses, putting himself in Ash’s shoes for a moment. Who is he fooling? His friend is going to lose it.  
“Guess we’re gonna find out in a moment,” Jo says, nodding at the portrait outside.  
  
Y/N glances through the dirty window while Dean holds the bamboo fly curtain aside to step onto the porch. It’s Ash who approaches the bunkhouse, but he doesn’t have the swagger he usually has in his stride. The ranch hand is looking down at the ground, the soil he used to call home. Every muscle in his face tensed, balled fists move alongside him with each step. Dean watches the guy for a brief moment, then descends the stairs to meet with him, but Ash does not want any of it. Instead, his friend walks past him, dismissing the head wrangler.  
  
“Ash. I--”  
The words trigger something in the lean guy, because after taking two strides up the steps, he turns around, a pair of piercing eyes startling Dean.  
“You knew, didn’t ya?” he questions, his voice heavy with frustration.  
Dean needs a moment to recover, staring up at the cattle worker, but Ash doesn’t grant him that time.  
“That whole ‘no need to worry, we’ll figure it out.’ It was bullshit and you know it. Hell, I ain’t surprised if you’re the one who decided that it was my ass to fire.”  
  
There isn’t much Dean can say to that, because it’s true. He_ did _know, he knew for a long time, and yes, it was him who told Bobby it had to be the man who’s standing before him right now.   
“We…” Dean pauses to correct himself, because Ash is right; this is on him. “I didn’t have a choice.”   
“Oh, but you did. Instead of telling me that things were gonna be A-okay, you could’ve told me what was gonna happen. But no, you were too fucking scared to look me in the eye and tell me the Goddamn truth,” the worker says accusingly.  
  
Dean stares back at him, his jaw flexing, but then he looks away as he swallows down the guilt. He knew those words were going to bite him in the ass. When he straightens himself again, Jo has appeared in the doorway, with Y/N right behind her.  
“Ash, we’re all sorry it went down as it did, and we wish it didn’t have to be like this--”  
“Then why the fuck do I have to leave?!” he shouts at the daughter of the ranch owner, his eyes noticeably shimmering in the lights above the porch.  
Jo isn’t impressed with his anger, on the contrary; she replies professionally calmly.   
“I hate to see you go. Shit, we all do. But the ranch isn’t going to survive if Dad doesn’t cut costs,” she reminds him. “There’s barely any cattle left to maintain, and you were hired last.”  
“Right. The ‘last in, first out’ rule. Then tell me, what the hell is _ she _ still doing here?”  
  
Suddenly, the newest crewmember is dragged into the argument as Ash nods at Y/N. Her heart skips a beat when it dawns on her what he holds her accountable for; he thinks she stole his job. Shocked, Y/N looks at the man who directed the focus on her. It’s a side of him she didn’t know he had and is overwhelmed by the accusation, causing her mind to fail miserably when trying to form any kind of response. Feeling helpless and exposed, she glances at the other two, desperate for back up. Thankfully, the head wrangler got the message, because seeing Y/N’s expression change from compassionate to fearful, triggers something inside him.   
“Y/N’s an intern,” Dean returns, the tone of his voice colder than a moment ago. “Y/N is still here because she doesn’t cost Bobby anything.”  
But Ash disagrees. “She’s another mouth to fill, just like every single one of us. She has a horse here who needs a shit ton of feed--”  
“- and she works hard for that,” Dean overrules him, staring him down. “Look, man. I know you’re pissed, I get it. But don’t you put this on her, it ain’t her fault.”   
“Are you saying I don’t work hard for my pay?!” Ash snaps back angrily.  
“I didn’t say that,” Dean rights, gesturing with a lowering hand to calm down. “I’m saying that down the line, Y/N is a free hand.”  
Ash scoffs at that, biting his lips as he looks away and clenches his fists, his knuckles pressed together in order to manage the exasperation. He’s so hurt and upset that he doesn’t even think about the consequences of the words that follow.   
“Oh, she’s a free hand, alright,” he states, shooting the guy opposite of him a penetrating glare.   
  
Jo gapes at Ash, mouth falling open, then turns her head to witness Y/N having the exact same reaction. Dean stares at Ash too, first in astonishment, wondering where he got the nerve to insinuate something like that. Within a second, that emotion is pushed aside by brewing anger. The need to defend her honor causes him to step towards Ash intimidatingly, but Jo gets in between before things escalate.  
“Whoa, now! Can we just keep it cool and not get nasty?” she demands, having both Dean and Ash at arm’s length.   
  
But Ash, apparently, isn’t done. “You’ve always been a screw around, man, but shit, I did not expect you to stab me in the back just to get in a girl’s pants,” he sneers, pushing Dean’s buttons and seriously applying for a punch in the face.  
“This is fucking bullshit, Ash, and you know it!” Dean counters, so worked up over the allegation that his heart is beating out of his chest.   
“Okay, that’s it! If you don’t shut your mouth right now I’m gonna pull out that mullet of yours!” Jo warns Ash before she turns to Dean. “And you need to walk it off, right now!”  
The ranch owner’s daughter pushes him back gently in order to raise her finger at him sternly. He steps away, offering a little air to the suffocating clash, and so does Ash.  
“Don’t bother, I’ll leave.” He scoffs. “That’s whatcha want, ain’t it?”   
  
The cattle worker turns around, the rage slowly seeping from him, leaving the space for sadness and disappointment to fill. Y/N watches the guy, still mind-blown by all the words that were said, but now that a fight is avoided, she can only feel pity. The blame that he put on her and on Dean is only a response to his world crashing down on him. She cannot really condemn him for lashing out. After ten or more steps, the guy in a dirty shirt and a plaid jacket with the sleeves ripped off turns around. Normally everything about the guy is either hazardous or comical, depending on how well you know him, but not now. Not now that his eyes are glistening in pained emotion.  
“This wasn’t just work, y’know. This is my life. This is home,” he says, his arms spread in desperation. “I thought that all of us here - that we were in this together. That we don’t turn our back on family.” He pauses, eyes fixed on Jo, then on Dean. He continues with a broken voice. “Y’all did exactly that.”  
  
With those words, he turns away and heads off to his cattle, like he always does after dinner. Silenced, the three watch him leave, until Dean sighs and looks around lost, as if he hopes to find answers in the earth-colored gravel. He doesn’t look at Y/N, he’s doing everything to avoid her questioning, sympathetic gaze. When the air gets too thin to breathe, he walks away in the direction of the barn, off to his horses. The intern allows her eyes to linger on the defeated figure that becomes smaller as he drags his feet down the worn path to the stables, the grey sky above him that darkens by the minute only adding to the grim atmosphere. Instinctively, Y/N reaches for the handrail of the steps down the porch, intending to follow him, but Jo stops her.  
“Let him be for a bit.”  
Y/N halts and listens to her friend, then lets a breath slip from her dry lips. “So no one wins today, huh?”  
“Nope. Not today,” Jo responds, moving through the doorway after throwing a glance at Ash’s silhouette in the far pasture. “Comin’? I have a bottle of something a-hell-of-a-lot-stronger-than-beer stashed somewhere.”   
Y/N huffs and turns to join her. Jo pours her some rum in a jar, which she sips on silently as she looks out the window, watching the day end. But the alcohol cannot wash away her thoughts that are with the two ranch workers: the one who lost his friend, and the one who lost everything else as well.


	9. Save Yourself

The evening has set in completely, a clouded sky obstructing a view of the galaxy above. Normally, a dark blue would stretch out above the ranch, blending into a lighter tone at the horizon in the west where the sun sank down hours ago. But today the sky is black. No moon nor stars decorate the night’s ceiling. Almost as if the weather knows that it’s not the time to be breathtaking. No one will look up to appreciate her anyway. 

Y/N vacuumed the bunkhouse, then gave the kitchen a good once over, just to keep busy. Jo took her example and scrubbed the bathroom. At least the therapeutical cleanup isn’t for nothing, because there was enough sand between the floorboards for the footing of a new arena, and there were several organisms living on leftovers in the refrigerator. Wranglers are a bunch of swines, that much Y/N knows. She neatly folds the wrung out the cloth that she used, leaves it in the sink, and stares through the four-squared window. Still no sign of Dean. Honestly, she’s not sure if it would be reasonable to expect Ash back tonight, since he doesn’t have to show up for work in the morning. But Dean isn’t going to stay away, is he? 

While she is cleaning the faucet until she’s able to see her own reflection in the copper, she moves past denying how worried she is about him. Staying here and letting him be, as Jo put it, feels wrong. A breath of air rolls from her lips when she eyes the wall clock again. Ten minutes to nine; he’s been gone for almost two hours. For a moment she contemplates what to do next. She can still ride Meadow, even though she intended to give her the day off. It will keep her busy, for sure, her horse will probably offer some comfort, too. But she cannot take away the concern she carries for the head wrangler, only he can do that. With three determined steps she’s by the door opening, and is about to push away the fly curtain, when she hears stumbling, coming from behind. Jo just exited the bathroom, almost tripping over the stick of the mop while holding up a bucket of water. She has purple rubber gloves on, her blonde hair looks quite similar to the rag she is holding, and her shirt is pulled into a knot above her belly button. It’s quite a peculiar sight.

“Where are you going?” she asks, perplexed. Surely, Y/N isn’t going to leave her friend to scrub the floor alone.  
“I’m gonna go to the stables. I think we did enough cleaning for one day, or a week,” she excuses.  
“To the stables, my ass. You’re going after Dean, ain’t ya?”  
Y/N opens her mouth to counter Jo with a firm ‘no’, but when she looks at her friend, she drops the act. One cocked eyebrow, that same judgemental grin she gave the intern when she commented on her boots being too clean for a ranch hand, the day the cowgirl picked her up from the airport. Darn, Jo is on to her. And so she presses her lips together and sighs.   
“He seemed upset,” she utters.  
“He’s a dude, he’ll live. Men are mad for a minute, walk it off and by the time they turn around, they have forgotten what the whole thing was about. They’re like goldfish,” her friend scoffs.  
Y/N snorts at that comparison. Clearly the ranch owner’s daughter has a strong opinion of the other gender.   
  
“I’m just going to check on him, alright?” she promises.  
“Do what you gotta do,” Jo replies. “You know where I’ll be.”  
Thankful Y/N smiles at her friend, then moves the fly curtain out of the way and steps outside. Jo might think it’s stupid of her to let Dean get under her skin, but that doesn’t mean she will leave her to struggle with it alone, in case it backfires. Odds are that the wrangler is going to hurt her feelings somewhere down the line, the numbers are not exactly in his favor. But knowing that Jo will be there with a safety net ready to catch her, is reassuring. After a mocking ‘hate to say I told you so’, she will be her friend. 

Grateful, Y/N walks down in the direction she saw Dean disappear hours ago. The air is thick, as if another thunderstorm is about to break out. The wind died down completely, leaving the lands in silence. The only sound she can detect, is a rhythmical pound every so many seconds, much like a pile-driver. Y/N isn’t far off, because when she reaches the cattle pens, she finds Dean, slamming a post into the ground with a sledgehammer. Seems like she wasn’t the only one who kept her hands busy to get through the evening.   
  
Clearly still worked up over the fight he had with Ash, Dean swings the hammer over his head with everything that he’s got and hits the pole on the head. His grey shirt sticks to his torso, sweat shimmering on his skin, brought out by the lampposts that light the driveway. Veins lay thick on his forearms, dust and dirt smudges add to the shades in his dark features. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so caught up in the work that he fails to hear her footsteps. In silence, she watches, both intrigued and intimidated, but eventually gathers the courage to announce herself.  
“Dean?”

He pauses his action for a brief second and looks at the timid woman, bewildered. Out of breath, he takes her in, but decides not to respond and heaves the hammer again in order to smash it down, driving the post deeper into the ground.  
“It’s getting pretty late,” she adds, hoping to get some kind of response that is more than just a look.  
“I have to finish this fence,” he returns, his voice monotone, as if he is trying to restrain every emotion.  
“The fence will still be there tomorrow,” Y/N returns.  
“I’d rather fix it now.” He hits the pole again. “At least this fucking fence –” and again, “– I can fix.”  
  
Oh, yeah; this is definitely a good way to deal with things. Y/N watches him jam the sledgehammer down a couple of more times, overworking his body.   
“You’ve been going at it since 4 AM,” she counters, trying to convince him. “Please come inside?”  
“I’m fine,” he replies bluntly, between swings.  
Y/N huffs, sarcasm evident. “Yeah, I can see that.”  
The head wrangler doesn’t respond, yet keeps grinding. He feels the young woman’s eyes on him, though. She is reading into his actions, his words, his behavior, and it’s bugging the hell out of him. 

Cautiously, she moves in a few steps closer. “Do you want to talk about it?”  
He drops the sledgehammer on the ground with a loud thump and turns to her, chest heaving and clearly annoyed.  
“Do I look like I wanna talk about it?” he scolds between breaths. “I told you I’m fine!”  
  
Taken aback by the hostility in his voice, Y/N stares at him. This is a side of Dean she has never seen before. Sure, he gave her a cold shoulder when she turned him down on her first night at the ranch, but the darkness that clouds his eyes now is different. He has closed himself off and as he was rebuilding the fence, he pulled up a wall as well. She understands that he’s hurt, but he is the second friend to lash out at her tonight and it’s more than she can handle.  
“You know what? I won’t waste your time then. I’m certainly not going to waste any more of _my_ time on you,” she spits, acrimony on her tongue. “Good luck with your damn fence.”

Angry, Y/N turns on her heels before he can spot the tears burning in her eyes. Hurried steps take her away from the man that gets to her more than she should let him. _You dumb goose. How could you have been so naive?_ Jo was right to warn her every single time she did. She has known her cousin her entire life and still Y/N begged to differ. For hours, she’s been worried about the guy who is only nice to his intern when he thinks he can seize the opportunity to get her into his bed. She empathized with him, and this is what she gets in return. A snarl from that selfish dick when she tries to help him. The cowgirl can hear him call out for her, but she ignores it. It’s not until she hears her name again close behind her, that she hesitates.  
“Y/N…”  
  
Strong yet tender fingers lock around her wrist and stop the woman who tries to flee from him. The action spins her around, but she avoids Dean’s eyes. When Y/N does glance up into those green orbs bouncing over her features, she can detect the dismay in his expression. If there is anything that she does not want him to see, it’s the tears that threaten to roll down her cheeks.  
  
The bitterness that affected his temper a moment ago is gone and guilt replaces it. Shit, what has he done?  
“I’m sorry,” he says, not a trace of swallowed pride. “You’ve been blamed for things that ain’t your fault enough today. You didn’t deserve that.”  
  
He loosens the grip on her wrist a little and lets his fingers slide down her smooth skin until he holds her hand, squeezing it gently. There are so many emotions from both sides of the spectrum coursing through Y/N, but the most evident is the sensation that races up and down every nerve like a racetrack, the start and finish where he touches her. She looks down at their entwined fingers, at how her hand, soft from the all-purpose cleaner, fits in his palm. This is the first time that there is intentional physical contact and it shuts down her brain and sends her heart into overdrive. 

“You’re not fine,” she manages to say. “I’m not a simpleton, Dean.”  
“I know you’re not,” he acknowledges. “It’s just that…”  
He pauses, hesitant about his next step. Opening up about the things that occupy his mind and keep him up at night is not something he’s comfortable with. His entire life he only had a few of those conversations, a few with Bobby, the others with Ellen. He only talked to them because they already knew a thing or two about his past and the issues that it brought along. But apparently the newest member of the crew is able to pierce through that veil and see behind the mask he thought he wore so well.   
  
“Dean… I know this isn’t all about Ash, and whatever it is that is bothering you, it’s okay. You can talk to me.” Y/N squeezes his hand, ensuring, letting him know she’s ready to listen.  
The anger she felt a moment ago when he shut down on her has disappeared as the ice on the lakes at the end of winter, back in Freeport. She isn’t even sure how this happened, but standing here in the wide-open spaces, lingering in his touch, it feels so good and so safe. It brings a calm over her she didn’t realize she longed for. 

“I - I don’t really talk about this stuff,” the head wrangler admits. “I dunno, it feels like when I do, I just rattle shit up… It wouldn’t do anyone good.”  
He lets go of her, before the girl he feels attracted to starts to wonder what the connection means, but runs his thumb over her knuckles gently before her fingers slip from his. The moment he pulls away, the wrangler already aches for her touch. Uneasy, he turns away and rests both his hands on the mid rail of the fence, his hunched shoulders blocking a clear view of his face. He cannot let her see it. He cannot let her see _him_.  
  
“So that’s your strategy? When something bad happens, you bury it?”  
Y/N isn’t judging him, he can tell by the way she asks the question and is looking at him, curious and sympathetic. What she is doing, though, is trying to understand how his mind works. What if she’s able to decipher his code? What if she can speak this foreign language that he made his? _What if she figures me out?_  
Just the thought of letting it all rise to the surface scares Dean to death. Knowing that the one person he wants to impress, who he wants to do good by, will be able to tell how broken he truly is. And yet, despite the fear that is eating him up inside, he cannot pretend. He cannot lie to her.  
“Yeah, I guess I do,” he admits. “Usually it works for me.”  
“But not always,” she knows.  
“No, not always.”

He’s quiet now, his gaze locked on the soil that has become solid again after this morning’s rain. Y/N observes his body language; how he’s turned slightly away from her, head tipped down, resting his arms on the fence as if he needs something to lean on. It’s a stark contrast to the confident smile and bright eyes that she got used to. This is a part of him people rarely get to see, Y/N is very much aware of that. What she’s also aware of, is how delicate the situation is. Pushing him to talk will only trigger the opposite, and so she lets him be. The words she leaves between the two of them have only one purpose: to make him feel better.  
“If you don’t feel like talking, that’s alright. But what happened to Ash, you know he was wrong to take it out on you, right? This is not your fault.”  
  
Even in the dim light she can see his jaw flex, confirming her suspicion that he does, indeed, blames himself for his friend’s departure.  
“It was my decision. One I had to make, but still. At least I should’ve been honest with him. He had a hunch that something wasn’t right and I could have eased him into it. Instead, I told him everything was going to be alright. Who does that?” the handsome wrangler ponders, able to kick himself in the head for his tactic. “He’s family, he deserves better.”  
“You tried to protect him,” Y/N soothes.  
The cowboy scoffs and pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. “And look how that turned out…”

Dean appreciates the cowgirl’s efforts. Hell, he admires her for them, because she could have walked off and let him rot after that snarl he gave her, and it would have done him justice. The thing is, Y/N wasn’t far off when she assumed that he wasn’t just upset about Ash. His whole life he has tried to protect the people he loved at the expense of himself, without question. One person stands out from all the others. A boy with hazel hair, bangs hanging in front of his eyes which used to look up to Dean admiringly. Always carrying some book around, always reading and studying. Quiet, observant, smart, a will of his own, even at a young age. A boy Dean fought for to keep safe, tried to make sure he would land on his feet alright, and be given all the opportunities he deserved. A boy who he took the hit for, every single time. A boy who would call Dean his big brother. A boy called Sam. He failed him, just like he failed Ash today. 

“Hey…”  
The woman who is breaking down his walls brings him out of the trance he was stuck in, her voice alone having that effect. He turns to her again as she steps closer and looks up at him.  
“I know we haven’t known each other that long, but sometimes it’s easier to open up to an outsider.”  
She’s not done with her pledge, but Dean interrupts her either way.  
“You’re not an outsider,” he makes clear. “I know you’re not from here, but that doesn’t mean you don’t belong. In fact, I think you are exactly where you should be.”  
  
The words quiet her, leaving a smile on her lips and warmth in her heart. Feeling accepted and welcome, she lets her eyes glide over the dark desert lands on her right. Her surroundings look exactly the same as it did on the evening she arrived on the property. She remembers how alien this world seemed, witnessing a landscape like she had never seen. Her gaze captures the overhead sign above the driveway, _‘Gold Canyon Ranch’_ carved out of the worn pinewood. Maybe Dean is right; maybe she is exactly where she needs to be.  
  
“Well, outsider or not…” She restores eye contact, a calm exuding from her that soothes him. “You can always knock on my door.”  
For the first time tonight, she can spot a glint of relief in his expression. It’s almost unnoticeable, but it’s there.  
Dean is not going to make any promises, though. Not because he doesn’t want to get close to her; on the contrary. But revealing what he’s truly about, what has inflicted the scars which haven’t healed even after all those years, it will scare her away.   
“Thank you,” he responds, grateful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’s a good enough answer for Y/N and she smiles back, glancing up into his eyes. There she is again, trapped like a butterfly in a spider’s web, unable to move or look away. His breathing has slowed and is back to normal after the exertion, but beads of sweat are still forming on his forehead, a drop rolling down his temple. He wipes his brow with his forearm, barely breaking eye contact. They both sense it, the change in the atmosphere, just like when the two had a moment under the Joshua tree. God, he wants to kiss her so bad that lust almost wins the battle it’s fighting with his confidence. He is offered another chance to make a move, but he’s not going to take it. This smart, kind, and strong woman deserves much better than the damaged man that he is. He breaks the tension by glancing down briefly while clearing his throat. When he looks back at her, he could swear he sees disappointment in her gorgeous eyes and regret stabs him in the gut.   
  
“I’m, uh - I’m gonna finish up that fence,” he stammers, making a fist and pointing his thumb over his shoulder.   
“Need a hand?” she asks, recovering quickly from the letdown.   
Dean seems stunned by her offer, because he frowns at the intern after a double-take. “You want to help me fix the fence?”  
“I’m only offering once,” she warns jokingly.  
The head wrangler grins, amused. “Well, in that case. Yeah, I could use a hand,” he accepts.

The cowgirl walks past him, eyeing him over her shoulder as she parades away. He stares for a second, smiling at the sight of her picking up the sledgehammer along the way, which apparently is heavier than she anticipated. The clumsy way she handles the large tool makes him chuckle, joyful for the first time tonight. No wonder, because without trying, she is absolutely stunning. A warmth spreads through him in waves, and he is highly aware of it. He recognizes the sensation. It has washed over him several times already, always when he laid his eyes on her. The girl with bright eyes and messy hair after a hard day’s work, despite her efforts to contain her locks. The girl who cares for others, who is kind to every living creature on this planet. She is beautiful in every way, inside and out. Under the yellow ray that falls down on her from the lantern above, she turns around. The spotlight creates dark shadows on the ground, but at the same time, it illuminates her features with a warm glow. 

“Are you coming or what? That fence isn’t gonna fix itself,” she challenges.  
Dean scoffs with a laugh, appreciating the attitude. Then he heads her way, stopping her when she almost loses her balance after heaving the large hammer above her head.  
“Why don’t you give the sledgehammer to me, before someone gets hurt,” he mocks, holding out his hand.  
“I can handle a hammer,” she returns, huffing defensive.  
Doubtful, the wrangler looks back at her. “I think the fence is gonna disagree with you there.”  
“Do you want my help, or not?” she recalls, letting out a laugh.  
“Yeah, I want your help,” he admits. 

The words lay deeper than would appear on first notice. It’s not intentional and Dean is worried for a second that she will pick up on what he really wants; he wants her to help him. Help him to heal, help him breathe, help him to love. No one has ever come through to him like she has already, and that’s exactly why he won’t make a move. He is beginning to understand what this all means, what is happening to him. How he feels about the newest member of the crew, is different. It’s mind-blowing and exciting, yet at the same time, it scares the shit out of him. The space she has occupied in his heart is growing steadily, but he can’t allow himself to act on it, because he simply can’t be selfish with her. That’s okay, though. Having her around as a colleague and a friend for the limited time she will stay with him trumps not having her in his life at all.   
  
“I’m gonna give this pole a couple more knocks on the head. Can you fetch the new woodwork?” He nods at the wooden planks, stacked up in the back of his truck, a little further on the driveway.

Reluctantly, Y/N lets go of the hammer and turns to get the new material for the fence. By the time she brings three new rails over, he has leveled the post with the others still standing. While she holds the board in place, Dean nails it to the post. In order to hold still, Y/N stands close to the head wrangler as he secures the fence. She fixates on the plank she’s holding, trying to ignore the fact that she is seriously invading his personal space. He smells like the damp earth below their feet and a hint of deodorant mixed with hard work; it’s the opposite of a turn-off. Trying to distract herself, she listens to the ticking sound of the head on the pin, until all the new woodwork is mounted to the posts. Sometimes he pauses for just a short second, his gaze burning her skin. Once he’s done, Y/N picks up the broken pieces left by the cattle when they stormed through, and carries them to Dean’s Chevrolet, where she lays the wood down in the cargo bed. Now that she and the handsome wrangler are a few more feet apart, she feels like she can breathe again, missing him close by at the same time. As she leans against the truck, he loads up the last of the wood that he didn’t use for the restoration. Again, his eyes linger on her briefly; the poor guy just cannot help himself, can he? Suddenly she feels bold.

“Ash was right about one thing, though.”  
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” he wonders, as he dusts off his hands.  
She grins cheeky, biting her bottom lip. “You are desperate to get in my pants.”  
Dean stares at the cowgirl flabbergasted, eyebrows shooting up. _Whoa, where the hell did the shy girl go?_ One question surfaces in the sea of thoughts that her remark triggered; what is her angle? Does she _want_ him to get in her pants? The handsome wrangler scoffs nervously and looks down flustered, as he rubs the back of his neck. But he doesn’t deny it. He can’t.   
“What, no comeback?” she nags, expecting either a smart or flirty return.  
“There are some things I just can’t argue with,” he chuckles, a blush pushing past the freckles on his cheeks. “Ain’t no reason to get cocky, though.”

He winks at her flirtatiously, his bright green eyes joined by a smug grin and Y/N cannot help but laugh. Who would have known that she missed Cowboy Casanova? It’s good to see he got his wit back, because he had her worried there for a second. She has spotted the pattern, though. Whenever he is forced to deal with an issue he wants to steer clear of, he dodges the matter by either making fun of the situation or by shutting down completely. So this is his defense mechanism, this is his armor. But beneath all the silence and the horse crap, he admitted straight up that he wants her. Ash might have implied that the head wrangler is only following her like a lost puppy because he wants to keep counting the girls he had in fives, but Y/N knows that’s not all that there is to it. With nothing more than a look, he made it pretty clear he feels something for her that Friday evening after training when they had a moment under the Joshua tree. Now that assumption has been confirmed. 

As the gears in her head are turning, she begins to walk across the gravel parking lot back to the bunkhouse, but it’s not just_ her_ grey matter that is doing overtime. Contemplating his own words, Dean gets behind the wheel of his Chevrolet. The fact is, he wasn’t just flirting. He’s simply telling the truth. But hasn’t that been the case the entire time? The wrangler is hungry for the new ranch hand, he’s pining so bad that selflessness alone is stopping him from running up the driveway and closing her in his arms. Strangely enough, it has nothing to do with sex, or greed, or any other sin, despite what others might think. For a moment, he worries if she might have read into his words just now. He doesn’t want to give her hope, or does he? Fighting his mind, he sighs; he’s so tired he can’t even think straight. 

With a flip of the key, the engine comes alive, only to drive a couple of hundred yards. After steering the black pickup to a spot next to the shed, Dean leaves the transmission in park. He will unload tomorrow, today he’s calling it quits. A grunt passes his lips when he hoists himself out of the car again. Damn, if his muscles are sore now, he doesn’t want to picture how bad it’s going to hurt in the morning. Maybe a long hot shower will do him good, he definitely needs one to rid himself from the filth he’s covered in.   
  
The head wrangler strolls up the trail that leads to his bed and finds the girl he’s losing himself to, watching the bunkhouse from some distance. When Dean levels with her, he sees why she stopped. On the bottom steps of the porch, two figures sit and talk: one of them is Jo, the other is Ash.   
“Well, what do ya know,” Dean huffs, surprised.   
Relieved, Y/N smiles. “Seems like he came around. Go talk to him.”

His chest constricts a little with the thought of the confrontation alone and he hesitates. His friend is most likely still mad at him. What if doesn’t want to settle this? What if he screws it up again?   
When Y/N detects that the man next to her is in two minds, she nudges him reassuringly with her shoulder, smiling at him before he gathers enough courage to step forward. The pair are walking up to the steps, when Jo spots them. The cattle worker next to her looks up now too, shame and uneasiness draping his features when he sees the head wrangler. The blonde cowgirl gets to her feet, picking up her hat that she had put down next to her.  
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” she says. “Comin’, Yankee?”   
Y/N nods and passes Dean, shortly squeezing his arm supportingly as she does.  
“Good luck,” she whispers, as she glances over her shoulder.  
  
He nods at her thankfully and takes Jo’s spot on the porch stairs, as the two girls retreat inside. An awkwardness fills the air within seconds, thick and suffocating, yet neither of the men say anything in order to break it. After what feels like minutes of going over what has been said and still needs to be, Ash gets up. Motionless, Dean sits on the step, forearms on his knees, fingers forked together. He hears his friend’s footsteps on the floorboards, followed by the rattling of the bamboo fly curtain and then the eerie silence; Ash has walked away. 

Pained, Dean closes his eyes and presses the knuckles of his clasped hands against the bridge of his nose. The tightness in his chest that he felt when he realized he had to face his friend has turned into an uncomfortable ache now. It seems to be a recurring theme in his life, people walking out on him. _Fuck, why is it so hard to do this?_ Why can’t he just tell Ash he’s sorry? He takes a breath and lifts his head, staring at the lights coming from the neighbors property, several miles up the road. Then something moves into his peripheral vision and he turns to find a can of PBR beer handed to him. Dean’s eyes move up to see who is holding the beverage, the weight falling off his shoulders when he sees the guy who rocks the mullet. The head wrangler takes the cold refreshment while Ash sits down next to him again. They both open their cans and take a slug of the golden brew. The silence returns, but it’s a much more pleasant one this time. Without saying a word, they’ve made peace. That does not mean, though, that nothing should be said. 

“Ash?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I - uh… I’m-–”  
“– Yeah, brother. Me too.”


	10. A New Adventure

“Wait, you’re not planning on bringing all _that_ with you, are ya?”  
Y/N’s eyes leave the three pairs of boots from which she still has to choose. Not to decide what two sets to leave behind, but which to wear and which to pack. Jo stands in the doorway of her tiny room, staring at the bed, which is covered in flannels, shirts, tops, several hats, jeans, jackets, sweaters, towels, socks, matching underwear, swimwear, a makeup bag, _and_ a toiletry bag. Even a hair iron and of course her phone charger lay amongst the collection of items that one way or another are going to have to fit into her bag.

The season is coming to an end now that September has reached its final days. It’s time to move the two-year-old horses down from the summer reservation. Bobby had asked his intern if she wanted to come along and of course she blurted out ‘yes!’ before he could even finish his sentence. She was so excited about the trail ride and started packing immediately. This is going to be quite an experience, especially for a show rider like herself who usually sticks to riding in a fenced arena.   
It’s a good thing that she started gathering her things early, because she has been contemplating what to bring for over an hour now. She’s the kind of girl who pays extra for exceeding the luggage weight limit on her flights, so no wonder she’s having it tough choosing what to bring. 

A little helpless she looks over at Jo, who’s waiting on her response.  
“I was planning on bringing this, actually,” she returns, hesitatingly.  
“Damn… poor horse,” the blonde cowgirl comments, eyeing all her friend’s stuff.  
“Too much?” Y/N assumes.  
“Just a tad,” Jo scoffs as she walks in. “And what the hell are you bringing the entire electronics store for?”  
“It’s just my charger and my hair iron. I will look like birds are nesting on my head if I don’t straighten this out,” she objects, holding out the strands of hair that have escaped her ponytail.  
“And you can’t have that with Dean around.” The ranch owner’s daughter crosses her arms in front of her chest, knowingly frowning at her friend.  
Y/N tilts her head and glares back, but fails to come up with a decent counter, because she’s not wrong.  
“Shut up,” she mutters instead.  
“By all means, pack it.” Jo shrugs as she turns back to the door. “But unless you tie a generator behind that horse of yours or find a cactus with a plug, you ain’t charging a damn thing.”  
“Wait. What?” Y/N responds, confused.

Jo sways around, her blonde braid hanging down from one shoulder. She narrows her eyes, trying to understand how her friend could be so oblivious to the fact that there won’t be any electricity where they are going. “What did my old man tell you exactly?”  
“That we might have to spend a couple of nights out camping,” Y/N recalls, trying to remember his exact words.  
“Have you ever been out camping, city girl?” Jo wonders, her tone indicating that she has figured it out.  
Now Y/N crosses her arms defensively. Just because she comes from a wealthy family, doesn’t mean that she has never been on a trip back to basics.  
“I have, as a matter of fact,” she returns confident.  
“Let me define ‘camping’,” Jo kicks off. “I’m talking ‘bout the sleeping-in-a-tent, no-shower-for-days, cooking-your-own-food-above-a-fire kind of camping. Not the kind where you park the luxurious double axle camper nice and close to the restaurant and the power station and get that satellite working as soon as possible so y’all can watch Netflix.”

Y/N opens her mouth to claim that she is not that kind of person, but has to admit her loss. She’s right, down to the double axle camper and the satellite TV.   
“So, no electricity? No shower?” she asks, intimidated by the matter, a trace of panic in her voice.  
“Nope,” Jo confirms, amused. “Better start prioritizing. Let me get my saddlebags, you can use those. Everything that doesn’t fit in there except for your sleeping bag, is not comin' along for the ride.”  
“Alright,” Y/N agrees reluctantly, nonetheless grateful for the help. “But how are you going to pack if I have your saddlebags?”  
“Simple: I’m not. I’m staying home,” the ranch owner’s daughter says.  
Astonished, the intern looks at her. Wait, her friend isn’t coming on this trail? The thought actually scares Y/N a little, because Jo has been there to guide her since she picked her up from the airport over a month ago.   
“Are you kidding me? Why?”  
“Someone has to run this joint while y’all are having fun. Usually, the stable crew guards the castle, but with Ash gone…”

Y/N drops her head, her mind going out to the former cattle worker. Ash left a week ago. Bobby gave him two weeks' notice but said he was free to go anytime. The loyal employee showed character and stayed as long as Bobby could afford to keep him. But after those fourteen days, Ash had no choice but to leave. Everyone was sad to see the quirky fellow go. The exchange of hugs between him and every member of his working family was moving to witness.   
  
“Dad offered to stay behind by himself, but he’s getting too old to work that hard,” Jo explains. “Garth and I will make sure everything runs smoothly here.”  
“What about me? How am I supposed to function without my conscience?” Y/N pouts.  
“You’ll be fine. You got Dean to hold your hand the entire way,” Jo mocks.  
The worried cowgirl chuckles. “That’s the whole problem now, isn’t it?”   
Jo gets up and intends to leave the room to get the saddlebags. She halts in the doorway, though, offering good advice. “Just remember: don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”  
“He’s your cousin. Of course you’re not going to sleep with him,” Y/N returns smartly, pulling a laugh from the blonde cowgirl.  
“See my point?” she returns, winking back before she leaves the room.

~~~

Thirty minutes later, Y/N is packed and ready, but sacrifices had to be made. Obviously, the hair iron and phone charger didn’t make the final cut, but neither did her shampoo, conditioner, and moisturizer, since she won’t be able to shower anyway. Her makeup didn’t fit into the bags either. It hurts to leave it all behind and she already feels insecure about spending days with the others wearing a blank canvas of a face. Sure she isn’t as fresh at the end of a working day as she was at the start of it, but so far she has been able to keep her hair and makeup in check. Now she won’t even have a mirror to judge how tired and ordinary she looks without a brow pencil and mascara.   
  
“You’re all set.” Jo, who is on her knees on the wooden floor fighting with the saddlebag, secures the last strap, shifts her weight back on her heels and places her hands on her narrow waistline.   
“I owe you one. I would have never managed alone,” Y/N says, appreciating her friend’s help.   
“You know you can count on me.” She shrugs it off after getting up. “I’ll lend you my raincoat and my gloves too. Never sure if you’re gonna need ’em, but if the monsoon decides to throw a curveball at ya, you’ll be thanking me.”  
She pops out of the room again, as excited for the intern as Y/N is herself. Jo’s bubbly personality has her smiling even after she leaves. It’s funny how it feels like they have known each other for years and yet it was only a month ago that she got into the pickup truck at the airport. One month ago, this challenge started. Her dad tries to hide the surprise in his voice every time she phones him to tell him how much she is enjoying her time here. He probably expected a plea for money. That, or a one-way ticket back to luxury and easy work. 

Y/N looks at one of the pictures that she nailed to the wooden wall. It portrays her family; Mom, Dad, and her three brothers surrounding Y/N at her graduation ceremony. Sure, she misses them, but she is starting to become a part of this ranch family too. That’s how it feels anyway: accepted, wanted… even loved. Her eyes hover over the picture frames and other decorations that she used to spice up her room a little. Many of the photos show Meadow, some snapped during shows, others at home in the fields. Won belt buckles and ribbons are trophies of their success together, each memory a highlight of her partnership with the special Quarter mare. Y/N remembers when she won every single one of them. 

“You’re not getting homesick, are ya?”  
She startles, jolted awake from her daydream, and turns her head to face her handsome supervisor. Dean leans against the doorpost, and judging by the amused expression, he has been standing there for longer than a second. Dear Lord, she got so caught in recalling past victories and happy memories, that she didn’t hear him walk up to her room. The sight of him has her lost for air, even after recovering from the scare. He stands on one leg, the other bent and crossing his back foot, resting on the nose of his boot. Fringe from his worn chaps fall down over his jeans, a dark brown Stetson to match it. Dressed in a red plaid buttoned shirt and a denim jacket over it, he looks even better than he did this morning. The handsome models in the old Marlboro commercials have nothing on him.  
  
“Don’t worry. I’m not going back anytime soon,” she responds before Dean can call her out on staring. “Besides, this is beginning to feel a lot like home, too.”  
The wrangler glances at the wall next to the bunk bed and lets his eyes roam over the photos, ribbons and buckles. He smiles at a goofy picture of her and her three older brothers.  
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he compliments.   
Y/N smiles at that. “Well, I am going to be staying here for a while. Might as well make it cozy.”

He grins, his green eyes catching the rays of sunlight coming through the window. Specks of gold stand out amongst the apple green, his pupils adjusting as they flick over the captured moments. They stop when he notices a photo taken during a prize-giving ceremony. He recognizes Meadow instantly, her trademark white face is hard to miss. She stands proudly with a white and blue sash hanging from her neck, event sponsors standing next to the horse, presenting the prizes won while smiling at the camera. But the person who smiles the brightest is Y/N, who sits squarely in the saddle with a wide grin on her face and sparkles in her eyes.   
“You won the State Championships,” he says impressed, reading the footnote. “That’s pretty damn impressive.”  
Y/N lights up but stays humble. “Meadow was on fire. It was the ride of my life.”  
“I bet it was.” Dean watches her for a second, admiring, while she reminisces over the highlight of her riding career. Then he glances at his watch briefly. “We leave at ten. You’re all packed?”

“She is now,” Jo interrupts, holding out a rolled-up sleeping bag and neatly packed raincoat. “Gloves are in the pockets.”  
“Thanks, Jo.” Y/N takes them and looks over her shoulder in search of her saddlebags. Dean instantly moves in to pick them up, since she has her hands full anyway.  
“I got it,” he states, lifting her luggage over his shoulder.  
“Oh, how noble of you!” Jo teases her cousin, not at all impressed with his manors. “What are you gonna do next? Buy a white horse?”  
Y/N snorts, but quickly straightens her mouth into a thin line to silence herself and hide the sign of amusement. Luckily, the wrangler is too busy countering her friend, as he follows the two girls into the living room.  
“It’s called ‘being nice’. You should try it sometime,” Dean snarls.  
Before the ranch owner’s daughter pushes open the front door, she looks over her shoulder. “Would you like to hold the door for her too?” she suggests, a challenging smirk on her face.  
“Would you like to shut your piehole?” Dean fires back after rolling his eyes.

Y/N giggles at the bickering, and opens the door herself by pushing it with her foot. If she didn’t know any better, she would think the two are siblings. Maybe not by blood, but they spent a great deal of their childhood together in the same house, at least that’s what she understood from Jo. Over the years, the youngest Singer figured out that she might not be able to beat her older cousin when it comes down to strength and speed, but verbally she stands her ground just fine. Now is no different, because Dean might have had a comeback ready, Y/N doesn’t fail to notice the color on his cheeks. He carefully glances at her from under his hat, the cowgirl smiling back reassuringly before she descends down the stairs.

At the tack up area, the Joshua tree stands tall, offering meager shade to the horses and humans underneath its branches. It’s rush hour. Benny and Garth are readying the horses, assisted by the three riders that are coming along for the trail. Dean was against bringing people along on such a long and potentially dangerous ride, but Bobby said the tourists paid good money and were experienced, so eventually, he agreed. Eight horses are tied up to the rails around the yucca tree. Six of them will be ridden, the other two will be the group’s packhorses. Y/N spots Joplin amongst them, the feisty mare that has grown on her over the past weeks.   
“She’s yours for the next couple of days.” Dean points her out, heading over to the dark horse with Y/N’s baggage. “Since the two of you get along so well.”

Delighted, she faces the mare, who pushes her soft nose into the folded raincoat in her arms, sniffing up the aroma. Y/N likes the little dark horse. She is not easy, has different ideas about what the pace should be, and can get very offended when her rider tells her otherwise, but there’s something about her attitude that the intern appreciates. She’s fast, tireless from the second her rider puts a foot in the stirrup, to the second he or she gets off. The Quarter is perfect for a trail like this. It didn’t cross her mind to bring Meadow for the ride. The reining horse, which is used to train on smooth arena footing, would most likely injure herself on the uneven rocky slopes and narrow paths. The hours under saddle would be much longer than regular training too, and Y/N does not want to confront her four-legged best friend with a task that she isn’t up for.   
  
Dean swings the saddlebags over Joplin’s back and straps them to the saddle. He mounts the sleeping bag and Jo’s raincoat that he takes from the intern on top, his fingers briefly brushing against hers in the transfer. The tingling sensation lingers on the surface of her skin where he touched her, causing her to be the one who is flustered now. The wrangler carefully glances over as he secures the baggage. She feels caught, but his expression is soft and comforting; he felt it too.

“Okay, y’all! We’re goin’ in five!” Benny shouts loud enough for everyone on the square to hear with his Southern accent thick on his tongue. “If you have to use the john or forgot to pack clean undies, now would be your last chance to do so.”

Last preparations are made by the crew. Benny secures his lasso to the horn of the saddle with a leather rope strap, while Dean consults his uncle one more time before departure, the two of them looking at a map of the Superstition Mountains. Then Dean folds the map and shoves it into the inside pocket of his jacket, after which he walks over to Ted Nugent, the big brown gelding that he will be riding for the upcoming days, since his favorite buckskin is out with a tendon injury ever since that rainy morning when the cattle broke out. Ellen walks up to her nephew and hands him a paper bag which, without a doubt, contains something delicious.  
“Made you some pecan tassies for on the road,” she says. “Wouldn’t want you to miss my baking too much.”  
“Thanks, Ellen.” Dean gives her a grateful nod and puts the tassies in his saddlebag.  
“Be careful out there, alright?” she presses, clearly worried about the quest that lies ahead for the wranglers. “Bring them back home safely.”  
“I’ll take care of the bunch. I promise,” he assures comfortingly, gently pulling her into his chest after which he gives his aunt a kiss on her hair.

Ellen and Dean aren’t the only ones who exchange a few last words before the group leaves.   
“Okay, grasshopper. This is it,” Jo’s voice sounds from behind Y/N.  
She spins on her heels in between the horses to meet the ranch owner’s daughter, who folds her arms around Y/N and hugs her tight. Happily, she returns the embrace before Jo pulls back and holds her by the shoulders.   
“Stay away from chollas if you don’t want Joplin to turn into a two-year-old who never had a saddle on her back before. And if the horses get nervous and you hear a rattle, get the hell out of Dodge, because there’s a rattlesnake within a few feet from you. Check your–-”  
Y/N cuts Jo off, because she has heard this before from either her or Ellen.  
“I know, I know. Check my boots for spiders and scorpions before I put them on and keep the tent closed,” she fills in.  
“Not just to keep out insects and reptiles, but horny cowboys as well,” Jo adds.  
Y/N snorts. “I’ll handle him. I will miss you, though.”  
“I’ll miss you, too, sis,” her friend returns, smiling.

They say goodbye while Dean unties his gelding and gets on swiftly, overlooking the group from the higher point of view.  
“Y’all ready?” he asks the company of six.  
When the riders cheer, he takes the reins with one hand and pulls it gently towards him, an aid for Ted to backup and move away from the other horses. The excitement rises noticeably, comparable to what one would feel when on an aircraft just before take-off and on its way to a new destination. Some of the animals start to get restless in the thrill, Joplin included. Y/N doesn’t waste any time and pulls the safety knot in order to free the mare, then puts her left foot in the stirrup and pushes herself off the ground with her right, swinging it over the back of the black horse.  
“Good luck, y’all,” Bobby wishes the six men and women.  
“See you in a couple of days!” Jo calls out.

Y/N waves at the people staying behind, a bright smile spreading from ear to ear. Looking forward to the adventure that will come next, she straightens herself in the saddle and faces the vast landscape. She might be twenty-four, but she feels more like a seven-year-old going on a field trip. In front of the rider, a pair of alert ears belonging to Joplin point forward. Beyond that view, the promontory of the Superstition Mountains stretches out. The sun has risen from behind the ridges in the East hours ago, already warming up the valley with its strong rays. 

Dean watches the young woman, consumed by a different kind of scenery as his horse follows the path. In the past few weeks, she has grown more comfortable in her role as a wrangler and a ranch hand. The daily routine is starting to become her second nature and the people she works with are her friends now. He wouldn’t have guessed it at first - and he’s quite sure she herself wouldn’t have guessed it either - but she fits in perfectly. The rich girl from upstate with a master’s degree under her belt feels at home surrounded by a bunch of country folks in the dry desert lands of the south west. Who would have thought that? Dean smiles, content; something tells him that this trip will help her blossom even more.

~~~

She could almost hear a harmonica play the theme from _Once Upon A Time In The West_, and she’s still waiting for tumbleweed to roll across the path. Cacti reach for the sun, their arms outstretching upward, like the giants are growing actual limbs. It’s a nice variation to the evergreens that she is used to, back in Maine. The rain that came down two weeks ago has laid a blanket of green over the dry lands; it’s amazing how nature can change in a matter of days. Jo warned her about the sun, and with good reason. Over the last month, the intern slowly but surely got used to the extreme weather circumstances that Arizona offers, but she has never been on a horse during the hottest hours of the day. It might already be late September, but the heat is blistering. She could use a shower right about now, and just the thought of not being able to take one for the next couple of days grosses her out. The temperatures weigh on the female rider, more than she thought it would, but her partner Joplin doesn’t seem to mind much. Her neck and shoulders are sweaty, but she still dribbles impatiently every now and then, eager to cover more ground. 

Dean leads the group, guiding them from spring to spring. The group left the Hieroglyphic Trail about three hours ago, which ended at a small creek and a poor excuse for a waterfall. They took a break there and had a few of Ellen’s delicious pecan tassies while the horses drank. Now, they are well on their way to Willow Spring, but the trail isn’t getting any easier. As they conquer the steep slopes, the pace slows down. Y/N is amazed at how the horses are able to maneuver on the rough terrain, which consists of loose pebbles, slippery boulders, and cracked volcanic rock. One misstep could severely injure the large animals, but they seem to be aware of that. Joplin proceeds agile and fearless, almost like a bobcat, and her rider learns quickly to let her take care of the drops and jumps. She doesn’t need guidance, the mare knows the way. All Y/N has to do is sit tight and move along with her to maintain the balance. 

“How y’all doing back there?” Dean is looking over his shoulder, his free hand resting on the cantle of the saddle.   
“We’re good!” one of the tourists assures.  
His name is Brad, the young guy riding next to his sister Macy and their buddy Jonathan. The head wrangler chatted a little bit with the three members of the group and they turn out to be good company. The trio is traveling across the country, enjoying a gap year from college. With Brad and Macy’s father being a rancher in Colorado, they know their way around horses. Jonathan is a little less experienced in the saddle, but he’s managing just fine. No doubt about it, though, that he’s going to be left with a serious muscle ache in the coming days.  
  
The leader of the pack shifts his eyes from them to his intern, asking her the same question silently. She nods, smiling reassuringly at her handsome supervisor, telling him in the same language that she’s doing fine. Content, Dean smiles back and winks at her before he straightens himself.   
It’s a good thing he’s not facing her anymore, because Y/N is sure that about a hundred butterflies hatched from their cocoons in her stomach, the feeling triggering her to take a shuddering breath. She huffs, annoyed with the response he triggered. Just _look_ at him. He’s _infuriatingly_ gorgeous, looking way too good on his horse, in those _darn_ chaps, wearing that _darn_ western hat. A part of her wants to dislike him, just for being so distracting. But she can’t be mad at him, not really. Just a glance her way with that grin and she’s a complete goner. Y/N watches as the cowboy catches up with Benny, slowing his horse down when they are side by side.

“Tell me, Chief, how are things between you and the intern goin’?” the Southerner wonders, making sure the woman in question is unable to pick up on the conversation.  
Dean looks aside at his best friend, amused by his curiosity. “It’s not going anywhere, really. Things are good as they are,” he claims.  
“Oh, c’mon, now. Did she turn you down again?” Benny guesses.  
Dean eyes him. “She didn’t turn me down. I just didn’t make my move.”  
The wrangler next to him seems to need a second to process the information. Dean Winchester didn’t make a move on a girl he likes in 0.2 seconds? That’s a new one. “Wait a minute. So you two haven’t even…?”  
“We’re just friends, Benny,” Dean claims, aware how terribly unconvincing it sounds the moment he pronounces the words.   
“Horse shit. You didn’t pass up Casey to be ‘just friends’ with the gal. You called dibs,” he reminds the head wrangler. “Besides, I see the way you look at her. You don’t look at a pal like that.”

Dean shakes his head, remembering the arrangement well. It’s not like he can deny he made that deal with the farrier, despite that it felt wrong to do so. But back then when he claimed her in order to keep his notorious friend away, he was still clueless about the affection he felt for her. The affection that steadily grew stronger to the point where he cares more about what’s best for the free young woman than what he wants for himself.  
  
“So what, Benny?” He shrugs, hoping his friend would let it go.  
“So _what?_ I know it’s a little dusty here in the desert, but did you get sand in your eyes?” Benny returns, perplexed.   
“Look, I know she’s awesome, and yes, I wouldn’t mind hooking up with her, but I can’t, okay?” Dean claims.  
Unable to understand the math behind his choice, the broad-shouldered ranch hand throws him a look that somewhere between dirty and confused. “Why not?”  
“Well for starters, Bobby will kill me if he finds out, since he took me aside to specifically forbid me to pull anything. Secondly, she’ll only stay for six months--”  
Benny interrupts him, however. “Invalid, Chief. Bobby told you before to quit bouncing around with clients and staff and it never stopped you then. And since when is six months too short for you? You usually get bored with your lady friends after a--”  
The cowboy from the South stops mid-sentence and Dean can almost hear it click in his mind. _Oh, boy. Benny has figured it out._ Even though he tried to make up excuses in order to avoid being confronted by his best bud, there’s no way of dodging that bullet now.  
  
“Well, fuck a goat and call her Nancy! You’re in love with her,” Benny announces, shocked.  
Dean raises his eyebrows at the rider next to him, then scoffs and looks away, trying to act like the very idea is ridiculous. “That’s - that’s just… Y-you’re insane,” he stutters, unable to flat out deny it.  
Benny starts to laugh out loud, apparently very much amused with his discovery. “I can’t believe you walked straight into that love trap!”  
“Would you keep your voice down?” the rider next to him hushes.   
The farrier looks over the back of his horse at the intern, but she’s about thirty yards behind them talking to Macy, clueless what the two wranglers leading the group are discussing.   
Dean stays quiet for a few long seconds, trying to decide if he is ready to admit that she means so much to him. “She’s a nice girl, Benny. I don’t wanna hurt her,” he claims.  
“Oh, c’mon now! You’re seriously telling me you grew a conscience all of a sudden? You used to love ‘em and leave ‘em without a second thought.” Benny has crossed his wrists over the horn of his saddle, the reins loosely between his fingers, as he looks aside to catch anything that would indicate what’s going on in his best mate’s head. It’s clear that he’s astonished by the shift in his demeanor.   
“I’m gonna ignore the urge to ask you who you are and where my friend is,” the Southerner chuckles. “But is it really just _her_ heart you’re scared to break?”  
  
Dean ponders, trying to make sense of the odds and ends that scatter his thoughts. Benny is not entirely wrong. It terrifies the wrangler to give in to these emotions. Is that maybe the true reason why he didn’t kiss Y/N that night under the Joshua tree? Or when she came looking for him after he had that argument with Ash? Maybe it’s a bit of both.  
“How long have we known each other? Fourteen, fifteen years now?” Dean recalls.  
“Give or take,” Benny confirms, looking down at the trail as he moves his hand over the mane of his horse in order to steer it a little wider around a boulder.  
“Do I seem like the kinda guy who does that? Fall for a girl? I liked the way things were, no attachments and all that,” the head wrangler continues, confused.  
“That’s the thing about falling in love, Chief. It happens to the best of us and always at a time when you least expect it. It hits you like lightning and you’re toast before you even got a clue why you’re feelin’ so crispy,” Benny says wisely.

The head wrangler glances at his companion sideways, reading into his words. It almost sounds like the Southerner knows what he’s talking about.  
“You’ve been there,” he realizes.  
“Oh, I’ve been there. I’ve been beyond falling in love, I loved her with my whole damn heart,” Benny acknowledges, smiling at the memory. “Her name was Andrea. We were both eighteen. She spent the summer with relatives in Louisiana and I was a lost cause from the moment I laid eyes on her. A Greek Goddess, and I ain’t exaggeratin’. She was pretty as a peach! Kind, funny as hell, too.”  
“Since she’s ain’t here, I reckon it didn’t end well?” Dean assumes again.  
“It didn’t; she went back to Greece and I moved here because everything reminded me of her at home,” his friend tells him.  
“You know you just proved my point, right?” the head wrangler says, a hint of triumph in his voice trying to mask the sadness in his eyes. “If love always comes to bite you in the ass, why even bother?”  
“‘Cause the heartache ain’t the clue, brother. What I had with Andrea was so good, so pure, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Even if I knew what I know now, how it would end, I would take that plunge again without a doubt in my mind.”  
Dean huffs, unable to believe that. “Despite that she left you?”   
“Fuck, yeah,” Benny states. “Better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.”

Dean is quiet now. The path narrows and he holds Ted back a little, merging behind Benny’s horse. As he lets his friend’s words sink in, he glances down the slope at the intern again. She’s several yards down the steep hill, focused on Joplin as she rides her up the trail. Her braided hair already has strands peeking out from under her hat, and he is sure if she had a mirror she would fix the mess, but he loves it. He loves it when the wind rustles her locks, or when the desert dust smudges her skin. Once again that feeling overcomes him, the feeling of a lantern being lit in the pit of his stomach, warming his body as it slowly rises through his core to his chest, where the heat lingers. It feels so good, but there’s a catch to the sensation. It comes with the emotion that creeps up on him when he lays awake at night thinking about Y/N; fear. The fear of her leaving him after her internship. The fear of her reaction if he would let her witness the scar tissue that lays thick on his soul. The fear that this love will consume him, just like the love for Mom consumed his father. The fear of failing her. But now that the true meaning of Benny’s message dawns on him, another kind surfaces. It’s a thought that he hasn’t had before, and as it pops into his head, the question reverberates louder through his mind than all the others. What if he misses his chance? What if there are only so many opportunities to win her over? 

He straightens himself before she looks ahead and spots him staring, and he closes his eyes and tips his hat forward. _Shit, you’ve been so worried about losing her that you forgot that in order to lose her, you have to have her first,_ he thinks to himself. A sigh slips from his dry mouth, reminding him how thirsty he is. He reaches for his water bottle from his saddlebag, pulls out the cap with his teeth and gulps down the water, knocking his head back as he takes a few swigs. Nope, he’s not dehydrated. In fact, he’s still having these contradicting thoughts. When he slips the bottle back where he took it from, his eyes wander down the path again, this time looking straight into hers. As he tries to decide on his next move, he holds her gaze as she smiles up at him. Dean wasted two shots already; what if it’s three strikes, you’re out? If he fucks this up, at least he tried, but if he won’t give this a try at all, he’ll beat himself up over it for the rest of his life. Either way, failure seems to be inevitable. 

Then he remembers something. Something that he was taught at a very young age. He had just turned four when he took a fall off the neighbor’s Shetland pony. It was the first time he had rode alone without his mom holding the miniature horse and the naughty pony took advantage of that situation. The Shetland picked up speed and bucked once, sending him straight into the dirt. After making sure that her son was okay, he recalls his mom picking him up.   
  
“You wanna give it another go?” she asked.  
“No…” he said.  
“So that’s it? You never wanna ride again?” she questioned again, her voice gentle.  
Now he was quiet, not sure how to answer that. “I don’t wanna fall off,” he mumbled eventually, looking down at the ground.  
“Falling is a part of riding, sweety. It’s a part of life. It’s okay to fall,” she told him.  
“But it hurts,” he said, rubbing his scraped elbow. “And it’s scary.”  
“Yeah, sometimes falling can be very scary,” Mom acknowledged. “But you won’t get any better if you stop trying. You have to face what you’re scared of, to grow. You know what they say about falling?”  
He shook his little head, waiting for the elaboration patiently.  
“You have to fall off seven times before you'll become a good rider,” she says.  
“Seven?!” he repeats, eyes wide.  
“Seven,” Mom pointed out. “But you know how he becomes a _great _horseman?”  
Dean shook his head again and listened eagerly. All that he wanted was to become a horseman, so this was the time to pay attention.  
“A good rider becomes a great horseman when he falls seven times and gets up eight.”

The wise words always stuck with Dean as he grew older. He remembers when he was twelve and got back to his feet after his seventh crash landing, this time from a young bronc. He was a horseman now, because he got up beaming, and brushed the dirt from his jeans. Every time when life beat him down, he did the same. Sadly, Mom wasn’t there to see her son become a horseman. She was long gone by the time he reached that age, but her life lessons will never be forgotten. Life is filled with setbacks. No one walks this journey without encountering them. For some that one setback is enough reason to give up and never become good at anything, for others, it’s a way to push through. And yes, getting up and trying again is not easy. But Mom taught him to look fear in the eye and get back in the saddle anyway, because quitting will definitely not get him anywhere. Whenever he hit the ground, literally or metaphorically, he would think of that memory. Now is no different. Mom was right; he has to face what scares him in order to grow.

Dean slows down his horse, pulling the bit just enough to stop Ted, giving the horse behind him a chance to catch up. When Joplin comes alongside, he glances at the rider from under his Stetson.  
“Hello, Cowboy,” she greets, a small but delighted smile on her lips.  
Dean chuckles at that, his eyes not leaving hers.   
“Hey, beautiful,” he returns.  
The compliment brightens her eyes even more and heats up her cheeks. The trail barely allows the two of them to ride side by side, their stirrups touching occasionally. He aches for her knee to brush his like he would crave rain after a long desert ride. When the denim of her jeans does rub against him, it leaves him electrified. And then he realizes that Benny is right, too. It is better to love and to lose, than to not have loved at all.


	11. Here at Willow Spring

It takes the six riders another seven hours to reach Willow Spring. The rough terrain forces them to move cautiously, especially since some members of the fellowship have little experience with these kinds of circumstances. Another reason for the slow time could very well be that Y/N halts every once every so often, simply gaping at the amazing panorama. The views are absolutely breathtaking, the young woman from Freeport has never seen anything like it. Drops that would give fear of heights a new definition, wide-open spaces that make her feel so small in this incredible world. Old volcanic remnants emerged from the depths of the earth more than a hundred thousand years ago and still stand tall today. African daisies and brittlebush decorate the grounds for miles, blossoming after last month’s rain. Copper-colored mountains surround them for as far as the eye can see, separated from each other by deep canyons. The epic proportions of the Superstition Mountains are difficult to grasp. It’s quite liberating, to move through an area so remote and untouched, with a horse the only possible type of transportation. She feels like an explorer, a conqueror from the old times. No car could take her here, not even a tank or a helicopter would be able to get Y/N over these boulders and through the narrow canyons. Only Joplin can.

The cowgirl rests her wrist on the horn of the saddle, the reins loosely in between the fingers of her left hand. Joplin still speedwalks under her rider, who stopped attempting to slow her down hours ago. Apparently, the dark mare does not wish to adapt her speed, even though she asked nicely a couple of times. Of course, Y/N could have made her point, but the argument that would probably carry on for days is not worth it. Where the little horse gets the energy to keep this up, she has no idea, but Y/N is glad she’s a forward-thinker. Dragging a horse up this God-forsaken mountain wouldn’t actually be a pleasure either.

Dean reaches the final hill first, looking down at the small stream that gurgles and splashes through the worn stone several hundred feet below. A lone willow tree grows on the bank, surrounded by cattails, marking the year-round water source. It’s a heavenly sight, because the horses are thirsty, and finding Willow Spring means that today’s time in the saddle is over. Make no mistake, he loves to ride, but after ten or so hours in the saddle, his ass is starting to get sore.   
“We’ll set up camp here,” he decides, glancing over his shoulder at the others before he gives Ted the aid to descend the steep slope.   
  
Dropped back on his hocks with his hooves out in front of him, the gelding makes his way down the hillside, trying to find the easiest path as he snakes down the mountain. Dean sits back, maintaining the balance as he lets his horse figure it out. When Ted reaches even ground again, Dean gives his companion space to drop his head completely. Alert, Ted drags his feet through the cold water, his lips on the surface of the crystal clear spring as he starts to drink, rhythmic gulps moving up his throat every time he swallows. Gently, the wrangler rustles his fingers through the bay’s mane, then he swings his right leg over the back of the saddle and lowers himself into the shallow spring. The water is pleasantly cold after a long day out in the desert and he can almost feel it sizzle when he splashes the water in his face and on the back of his neck. He rarely gets a sunburn anymore, but his skin feels tense and dry today. As the droplets run down his chin and neck, he puts his cowboy hat back on and rises up to find Y/N next to him, copying his actions. While Joplin gulps down at least a gallon, the female rider cups her hands to capture the refreshing water and wash her face clean, after which she lets the air flow from her lips in delight.

“Long ride, huh?” Dean sighs.  
“Sleeping is not going to be a problem, not even if I have to spend the night on a rock,” she admits.  
“We’ll rest up here, Benny will get dinner going soon,” he assures her.   
“Better be good, Benny,” she warns as she leads Joplin away from the riverbed, trading places with the Southerner. “I’m starving.”  
“The things I can do with canned food above a fireplace, darlin’. Those Michelin star joints can kiss my fine behind,” he returns, a bright smile and even brighter eyes adorning his face.

Dean grins at the claim and walks with Ted to follow Joplin. All fun aside, they cannot sit down and kick their feet up just yet. They have a camp to build.  
“Brad, Jon, you can set up camp on that plateau up the hill. Benny and I will take care of the horses. Y/N and Macy? Can find us some firewood?”  
He looks in the intern’s direction and she nods in confirmation. He takes over the reins of her horse so that she can get to the task at hand.   
“Watch out for snakes,” he presses.  
“I know. And kick over the wood before you pick it up,” she adds before her supervisor does.  
“Jo already gave you the lecture, huh?” Dean assumes, grinning.  
“And Ellen, and Bobby.” She giggles, looking over her shoulder as she joins Macy to find some dry wood.

The women hit the jackpot after searching the dry terrain a little higher up the stream. What once was a sheep shed is now a heap of wood and nails, nothing left standing but one corner strut. With the rotten planks stacked up in her arms, Y/N and Macy return to camp on the plateau, about a hundred feet from Willow Spring. Two out of the three tents are set up and ready to be inhabited, while the horses are tacked down and resting. Dean and Benny created a small paddock with rope, using two large boulders and a large cactus as anchor points.   
  
Within half an hour there’s a fire going and soup is bubbling in a pot above the flames. The sun is setting fast, still reflecting its orange rays on the few clouds above, drawing shadows larger than the mountains that create them. Tired from the long day, the six riders sit around their improvised stove, easy conversation and joyful laughs rising up from the valley. It doesn’t take long before the night darkens the sky, the stars and the moon shining bright. Suddenly the desert that seemed enormous and wide-open during the day, feels cozy. Almost as if the company of six are in a room as big as the light of the fire can reach. The soup, rich with meatballs and vegetables, together with the bread Ellen baked this morning, fills their stomachs. Y/N stretches her legs out in front of her, crossing them at her ankles while she sits down on a boulder, stretching her back to fight the dull ache.

“Who wants a beer?”  
The intern looks up surprised while Benny gets up and looks from one to the other.  
“We’ve got beer?” Brad, apparently as astonished as she is, wonders.  
Benny shows his set of pearly whites and descends down the hill towards the cold spring.  
“Even better,” he corrects, as he pulls the six-pack from between four stones, the cold water dripping from the bottles. “We’ve got _ cold _ beer.”  
  
The wranglers cheer as the Southerner makes his way up the slope again, after which he rummages in one of the saddlebags, probably to find an opener. Casually Y/N glances over, but then she furrows her brow as something catches her eye before Benny closes the straps again. Was that the handle of a pistol she spotted? The gears in her head start turning. Why would they bring a gun on a trail ride? Y/N isn’t a stranger to guns. Her brothers and father have a hunting cabin up north at White Mountain and her oldest sibling, Jake, is a police officer in Los Angeles. At home, she knows where they keep the guns, and in case of an emergency, she knows how to use them. Still, she wonders; why bring one here into the desert, miles from a living soul? Wild animals, maybe? 

“Here ya go, darlin’.”  
Benny hands Y/N a bottle of Corona, which she takes gladly. Then he hops up on the large rock the intern is leaning against. Dean walks around the fire after pushing in a new log, then settles down on a small boulder on the other side of her. He props up one leg, the other stretched in front of him, resting his wrist on his knee while he begins to play with the silver band on his ring finger.   
“Cheers, y’all,” he says, raising his bottle.  
The others respond with a mutual ‘cheers’ and he takes a swig of the welcome refreshment. Y/N does the same, but can’t help to glance at the saddlebag again. Eventually, curiosity gets the best of her and she leans into Dean.  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
He looks aside, attracted by her whisper, a little bit nervous all of a sudden now that she’s so close to him. Apparently, whatever she is going to require from him is not suitable for the tourists to hear.  
“Shoot,” he replies.  
“Why do you guys carry a gun with you?” Y/N wonders with a soft voice.  
Dean cocks his eyebrow and can’t help but to lift up the corner of his mouth a little. Someone is being observant. He huffs before he answers, but Benny, who apparently was eavesdropping, beats him to it.  
“Seems like we’ve got a detective amongst us, Chief,” the Southerner comments.  
A little embarrassed, Y/N stammers as she looks up at him and back at Dean, his slightly amused and soft smile taking away some of her insecurities. “I - I didn’t mean to sniff around,” she half apologizes, but Dean brushes it off.  
“It’s fine,” he assures, then checks on the other three to make sure they aren’t listening in. The tourists are entwined in a conversation of their own, however. “And that gun is a safety precaution.”   
“For what?” she asks, not settling for an answer that vague. 

Dean glances at his friend, shielding his face from her for a second. It seems like he is discussing silently if he should share this matter with the intern, but in fact, he’s telling Benny something completely different. The slight nudge of his eyebrow and the suppressed little smile says one thing only: play along.  
“We’re not the only ones out here, darlin’. Apache Indians still roam these mountains,” the farrier from the South elaborates.  
Y/N’s eyes widen, as her gaze darts from Benny to Dean, but both keep a straight face. They aren’t serious, right?   
“Apache Indians?” she repeats, a little skeptical.   
Dean nods, carrying a blank expression and she could swear they are telling God’s honest truth.  
“Yep. You better watch out for the natives. Us white folks came here and stole their land long ago in a brutal manner,” Benny adds, taking a sip of his beer to prevent himself from breaking character. “You’re a smart Belle, you can guess what they’d wanna do to us, might we cross paths with them, out here in No Man’s Land.”  
  
Stunned, Y/N stares at him. It sounds hideous, but the way he delivers the story is disturbingly convincing. Plus, she looked into the history of the true Native Americans for a project back when she was a sophomore and remembers that there used to be a large colony at Apache Junction, not far from here. She didn’t realize that besides dangerous five hundred feet drops, unbearable heat, venomous spiders, snakes and scorpions, there is more to fear out here in these wastelands. But then she notices how Dean presses his lips together, so tight that his jaw clenches for just a second as he fights a laugh. On to them, Y/N tilts her head and throws the two boys a glare, causing them to crack.  
“Idiots,” she mutters as they laugh loudly.   
Sniggering, the friends toast their beer bottles, celebrating their successful prank. Sometimes Y/N wishes she wasn’t the easily fooled city girl.  
  
“All jokes aside,” Dean recovers, his tone serious again. “We always bring that gun on trails in case a horse injures itself lethally. We’re miles out from the road, let alone a veterinarian, so if it would ever come to a worst-case scenario, at least we can put the horse out of its misery.”  
Y/N didn’t expect that answer and is silenced by the reason for the weapon. She only now realizes how far from civilization they are. Slippery slopes and narrow paths over high ridges are a recipe for accidents, but that a misstep could have such consequences somehow didn’t dawn on her until now. When things go south out here, they are truly on their own.

“Did you ever have to use it?” she wonders.  
Dean shakes his head gladly. “No, but Bobby did once,” he tells her. “That’s why he insists on us bringing the Colt every time we go out.”  
“The Colt?” the intern responds. “The gun has a name?”  
“It’s not just some gun. It was specially made for a hunter on horseback at the beginning of the 19th century. It has been in the family for a long time,” Dean explains as he takes another swig from his bottle.   
“Well, I hope you will never have to fire that gun,” Y/N says solemnly.  
He looks at her and agrees to that statement with a small nod, because he surely hopes he doesn’t have to either.   
  
“How about some tunes, Chief?” Benny suggests.  
The night is still young and he is looking for ways to fill the evening; musical entertainment will do just that. Dean throws him a displeased look, though, but his friend already pulled his harmonica from the chest pocket of his jacket. He holds the instrument in front of his mouth with one hand and partly covers the exhale holes to give the extra effect as he blows on it, playing a little riff that captures the attention of the others. Dean sighs; there's no way out of it now.  
“What are you gonna sing?” Y/N asks the handsome man next to her.  
The giddiness in her voice melts away Dean’s discomfort for being put in the limelight by Benny once again. He remembers her first day on the job when he sang a couple of songs. Her beautiful eyes sparkle just as bright as they did that night and he smiles.   
  
“How about a duet?” he suggests.  
She snorts, almost choking on her beer. “What? With _ me _?! God, no. Clearly, you’ve never heard my singing voice.”  
“I have, actually,” he begs to differ. “You hum quite a lot when you’re working. And I heard you sing ‘American Pie’ the other day when you were cleaning tack.”  
“Were you spying on me?” Y/N eyes him, jumping subjects to get out of a potentially embarrassing situation.  
He averts his gaze, a nervous chuckle under his breath. His eyes have lingered on the new wrangler apprentice more than once. There is no denying that.  
“I wouldn’t call it spying,” he corrects shyly.  
“What would you call it then?”  
She pulls up her legs and folds her arms around them, resting her cheek on the flat surface of her knee as she studies him. It amuses her how flustered he gets whenever she catches him taking an interest. He can be so cocky at times, so full of it, but when she corners him only slightly, he seems self-conscious all of a sudden. Now is no different, but he gathers enough courage to look back at her again.   
“I’d call it admiring.”

Dean holds her gaze for a few seconds after he speaks, fire dancing in his beautiful eyes that seem to have a shade of amber now that the flames reflect in them. Unable to look away, Y/N’s cheeky grin tones down into a small smile, the words warming her more than the desert ever could.   
“C’mon, brother. This audience ain’t gonna wait all night.” Benny pauses his harmonica solo to rush the head wrangler, missing the conversation that was going on between the two.  
“I’ll handle the main vocals. Will you back me up?” Dean asks the cowgirl, not letting his pal interrupt the moment.  
“I-I don’t even know what you’re gonna sing,” she returns nervously.  
“You’re into classics; you’ll know this song,” he assures, winking at her before he turns to Benny and mouths the title of the track.  
Benny nods his head and then starts the melody to ‘The Weight.’ Dean looks over at Y/N as he taps his foot to the rhythm, waiting for her to identify the track just by the cords that Benny plays. Then her face lights up and he grins, knowing that she’s got it now. _  
  
“I pulled into Nazareth, was feeling ‘bout half past dead.  
I just need some place where I can lay my head.  
Hey mister, can you tell me where a man can find a bed?  
He just grinned and shook my hand. “No” was all he said.” _

Nervous for her debut as a background singer and yet delighted by his warm voice, Y/N waits for her cue. She has never sung for other people before. In her own head, it sounds quite alright when she joins in with the vocalists of her favorite songs, either while mucking out or under the shower. But to claim she can sing? Absolutely not. _ God, you’re gonna make a fool of yourself. Are you truly so desperate to get his approval that you signed up for this? _Then Dean nudges her softly, calm eyes telling her that she’s going to be fine.

_ “Take a load off Fanny. Take a load for free.  
_ _ Take a load off Fanny…” _

_ “- and you put the load right on me.” _

Y/N joins him on the last line, hitting a higher note simultaneously with Dean, creating a vocal harmony. The cowboy smiles widely at her, impressed with her voice. Relieved, she beams when Jonathan whistles and Macy and Jon cheer. Maybe she doesn’t sound so bad after all.

_ “I picked up my bags, I went looking for a place to hide.  
When I saw old Carmen and the Devil, walkin’ side by side.  
I said, ‘Hey Carmen! C’mon, let’s go downtown.’  
She said, “I gotta go, but my friend can stick around.  
  
Take a load off Fanny, take a load for free.  
Take a load off Fanny, and you put the load right on me.” _

They sing the chorus together and Y/N can feel herself loosening up, swaying to the music as she closes her eyes. The classics enthusiast knows most of the lyrics by heart and dares to play with the melody a little bit when there’s room, all the time carrying a smile on her lips. A smile that is pure bliss to Dean, and watching the woman he is losing his heart to express herself has him lost for words. This is what happiness looks like and he can’t get enough of seeing her in this state of mind.

Benny finished the song with a little solo of his own, knocking his head back with the last notes and drawing applause from the others. Y/N exchanges a look with the two wranglers, thrilled with how that little collaboration worked out. As the clapping dies down, Dean becomes quiet, pondering on his next song. Curious of what he will pick next, Y/N watches him. She doesn’t know, however, that she is the one person occupying his mind. Again Dean turns to his best mate.  
“You know the chords to ‘Desire’, Ryan Adams?”  
“Sure do.”  
He brings the harmonica to his mouth and lets the air flow through the instrument as he moves the intakes on his lips, testing the notes. Dean listens, staring into the fire for a moment as he gets the feel of it. Then Benny starts on the verse and the cowboy begins to sing.

_ “Two hearts fading, like a flower.  
All this waiting, for the power.  
For some answers, to this fire.  
Sinking slowly, the water’s higher.  
  
Desire… Desire…” _

Quietly Y/N watches as he moves his upper body back and forth slowly, like waves rolling onto the beach and pulling back again. His voice overwhelms her with every note, so raw and pure and sincere that it gives her goosebumps. Sometimes his eyes close as he enjoys the flow of the song, but throughout most of his performance, they are open, looking up at either the sky or into the flickering flames. But ever so often he glances over, honest eyes strengthening the message. Is he…? Is he singing this song for her?

_ “With no secrets, no obsession.  
_ _ This time I’m speeding. With no direction.  
_ _ Without reason. What is this fire?  
Burning slowly, my one and only…hmmm.” _

_ Desire… Desire…” _

There’s a calmness that washes over her and for that moment, it feels like it’s just the two of them. While listening to the words, she brings her hand up to cover her mouth, afraid to make a sound and disturb the magic. Folded fingers press against her lips as she swallows apprehensively, feeling her throat is closing up. She is so moved, that tears shimmer in her eyes. Her eyes which never leave him, not once. 

_ “You know me. You know my way.  
You just can’t show me, but God, I’m praying.  
That you’ll find me, and that you’ll see me.  
That you run and never tire.” _

_ Desire… Desire…” _

The harmonica echoes through the valley as Benny takes on the last part of the song, but the sound of the instrument fades out in Y/N’s mind. Dean watches his friend for a short moment, but then glances at her. Instantly his expression changes and she realizes he is able to see that her eyes are glazed over in emotion.   
“Hey…” he whispers concerned, moving his hand to lay it over hers.  
“I’m okay,” she assures, smiling, blinking away the tears. “In fact, I don’t think I ever felt this happy.”  
Dean settles, the worry leaving room for his own happiness. Supporting, he gently squeezes before he retreats his hand, holding onto her gaze just a bit longer. Then he averts his eyes to watch the harmonica player’s grand finale.   
  
Several other rock and country songs are covered and the evening flies by in record time. Adoring glances and little touches are exchanged between Y/N and Dean, without the others noticing. If it wasn’t for the company, who knows how the night might end, and she silently wishes it was just them, sitting here by the fire. It’s ten to midnight when she fails to suppress a yawn.  
“You and me both,” Macy comments as she gets up, covering her mouth as she yawns as well. “I’m gonna get some sleep.”  
It’s anything but a bad idea, because their bodies are drained. Macy’s friend and her brother get up as well, gathering their things before they go to their tent, thanking the crew for the good night.

“You take first watch, brother?” Benny checks before he hops off the boulder.  
Dean nods. “I’ll wake you up at three.”  
“Already lookin’ forward to it,” the farrier grunts.   
He shuffles to the tent closest to the paddock and unzips the canvas, crawling in on hands and knees, before closing the opening again. And there she has it, her wish granted; it’s just her and Dean now.

The wrangler realizes it too, because a nervousness overcomes him. He adjusts himself a little, crossing his stretched legs at his ankles as he observes her for a short minute. Poor thing, she can barely keep her eyes open. Ten hours in the saddle and traveling across the desert under the ruthless sun are taking their toll.   
“You should get some rest,” he suggests softly. “Tomorrow’s another day.”  
Almost pleading, Y/N looks up at him, because even though her body begs to differ, she wants to stay. But when a yawn escapes her again, she has to admit her loss; she is so tired, she’s not even worth a dime. With at least two more days to go, the cowgirl needs to keep her strength up.  
“You’re right.” She sighs as she gets up. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning. Good night, Dean.”  
“G’night,” he returns, an ache developing in his chest as she moves away.  
  
He watches her struggle with the tent and chuckles, but then she disappears inside, leaving a saddening silence. Within a couple of seconds he regrets his decision of letting her go, but remains seated on the rock, facing the fire. Pondering, he goes over the night, over every single moment, no matter how small.  
“Chief?”  
Dean looks over at the tent he shares with Benny, noticing how the Southerner has popped his head through the opening again.  
“If you were waitin’ for the perfect opportunity,” his friend carefully starts, “that was it.”  
The head wrangler glares at his friend, telling him that now is not a good time to judge his actions. Benny has a point, though; he missed his third shot. Let’s hope the rules of baseball don’t apply in this game of love.

~~~

  
Wide awake, Y/N stares at the ceiling of her tent while listening to the wildlife outside. Crickets chirp loud enough to annoy the restless woman, but she can blame the insects all she wants, they are not the reason for her insomnia. She slept for about thirty minutes, unconscious before her head hit the pillow, but without significant reason, she woke up and hasn’t been able to sleep since. A sigh slips from her lips as she shuts her eyes stubbornly, forcing herself to get some sleep, but after a minute she opens them again and turns on her flashlight to check the time. For God’s sake, it’s almost 2 AM. 

Y/N switches off the torch again and tosses and turns, trying to get comfortable on the thin air mattress without waking Macy. But whatever she does, her brain continues its attempt to process and analyze every emotion that short-circuited her body last night. Every bit of hope, happiness, but most of all, the love that filled her. There’s no doubt in her mind; she knows she has fallen head over boots for Dean. The difference is that she strongly believes she witnessed his love for her as well tonight. She knew he was interested, he made that clear early on. But this… this is different. This is deeper.  
Inhaling slowly, Y/N tries to lower her heart rate and calm herself, but it’s a hopeless case. Defeated, she gives up and rises from the bed, slipping back into her jeans. Somewhat angry with herself, she pulls a clean tank top over her head and squirms into her denim jacket, after which she crawls to the opening to unzip the tent. 

Apart from the crickets, it’s quiet outside. The campfire has decreased in size, only half a log fueling the flames. The faint light fans out and only reaches so far, drawing dark shapes past the rocks and tents. Beyond its range, the world is pitch black. A little uneasy, Y/N crosses her arms in front of her chest and tries to chase away the chill. It’s the beginning of October and the difference between day and night is growing larger. In contrast to the heat about twelve hours ago, the air seems brisk now, as it would be on an autumn night at home. 

She sits down on the boulder facing the fire, hunched over as she looks around for Dean. Every sound seems magnified, sounds that she does not want to know the origin of. Didn’t Benny mention that there are mountain lions in this area? One of the horses sighs a little further up and although Y/N can barely make out their shadows, she tries to ease herself with the fact that they are calm. Their instincts would make them the first to sense danger, so if they are comfortable, why shouldn’t she be?   
  
Something rummages in the dark and slow footsteps follow. Her eyes dart in the direction where the sound comes from, but then Y/N lets out a breath of air when it is in fact the person she hoped to find.   
Dean steps into the light and notices the intern, clearly surprised. “Hey… What are you doing up?”   
“Couldn’t sleep,” she excuses simply.  
For a second he wonders what caused her to lie awake, but decides to leave the reason for what it is and instead makes a joke. “Scared that the Apache Indians will invade the camp?”  
“Shut up,” she mutters, embarrassed.

Smirking amused, he shoves some dry branches into the fire, trying to spike it up a little. He then settles down next to her on the boulder that serves fine as a bench, careful to leave enough space between them. At ease, he watches Y/N from aside, who in turn stares at the fire, intrigued. How the flames lick at the wood, slowly swallowing the twigs. How little fireflies of hot amber twirl up into the night sky.   
The weariness that he felt when she left a couple of hours ago is gone instantly, her presence soothing him. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest, hugging herself to stay warm. It makes her seem so small. Without missing a beat, he reaches for the plaid blanket that he used himself earlier before he went to check the horses, and hangs it over her shoulders.   
Grateful, Y/N pulls the wool fabric around her body a little tighter. “Thank you.”

For a couple of minutes, the two of them just sit there, listening to the crackle and pop of the fire as they simply enjoy each other’s company. Reluctant to break the silence, Y/N steals a glance at the handsome man next to her. The radiance of the flames caresses his hair, highlighting it with gold and adding a soft glow to his freckled skin. Dark shadows bring out his strong jaw, his profile illuminated by the frantic light. There’s a softness in his eyes, his pupils slightly dilated due to the darkness that surrounds them, but they still leave enough for the beautiful shade of forest green to mesmerize her. Feeling his company’s lingering gaze, he turns his head to meet it. He smiles, the smallest chuckle rumbling deep down in his throat as he takes her in.

“What?” she wonders.  
“When you first arrived at the ranch, you seemed a little… out of place. We just brought the cattle in and we all looked ragged and dirty, probably smelled even worse. We had a few drinks, were loud. A proper bunch of country folks,” he starts. “And then you walked in, the complete opposite. Your hair all done, nice clothes, shiny boots.”  
She grins. “I stood out, huh?”  
“You did.” He smirks at the memory, but he’s not just reminiscing over the first time they met.  
“Are you telling me that I look ragged and dirty now too? Or that I smell bad?” She side-eyes him, noticing the slight horror on his face when he realizes how his words are coming across.  
“No! N-no, that’s not at all what I’m… Y-you smell great,” he stutters, and Y/N can’t contain a giggle. Dean scoffs and shakes his head; she got him there. Slowly the heat fades from his cheeks. “What I’m tryin’ to say is… I mean, look at you now,” Dean says, letting his eyes roam over her for a second. “You’re achieving your goals, proving the judgemental ones wrong. And I know it ain’t easy. It’s hard work. I’ve seen plenty of people cave in their first week. But not you. You became a part of the ranch… a part of this family.”

The corners of her mouth lift when the last word sets in. _ Family. _She is a part of this _family_. Of course, she isn’t from here and she will always call Freeport home, and yet Y/N has never felt like she truly belonged somewhere. Not until now.  
“Were you one of the judgemental ones?” she asks him.  
“I would be lyin’ to you if I said I wasn’t,” he admits, shame evident when he lowers his head. “I’ve never been more glad to be wrong, though.”  
Her smile grows, much like her heart. She looks down at her feet, dragging marks with her heels in the sand. Why is she so nervous to sit here next to him, when at the same time she has never felt more comfortable?

“Dean?” She turns to him a little bit more, her knee brushing against his. The touch is so light it shouldn’t leave her skin so sensitive, but it does. “That song you sang,” she continues, daring to restore eye contact. “Was that dedicated to someone?”  
The wrangler’s heartbeat fastens and he’s doing his best not to heave his chest noticeably. He knows she’s not asking if he sang her a pretty song. No, she’s asking if he _ meant _ it. If every word that rolled from his tongue was the truth. If every raw edge in his voice was shaped by the rush of emotions that plows through him whenever he thinks of her. If every time he closed his eyes as he got lost in the music, it was her who he pictured.  
“It was,” he admits.  
“Does she know?” she counters, her eyes playfully taunting him.  
He grins, dipping his chin slightly, but his expression changes the moment she moves her hand to his face and lets her delicate fingers run through his hair, her thumb softly rubbing his temple. Under hypnosis he stares into her soul, his eyes bouncing over her features. He’s not sure if he can speak, now that he’s completely under her spell, but he can try.  
“I sure as hell hope she does,” he says, his voice so soft that it is no more than a whisper. “But you tell me.”

If there was any doubt left about the attraction being mutual, it is gone now. Dean just laid it out in front of her, and as a pair of hopeful greens wait for her to respond to his words, Y/N doesn’t waste another second. She closes the few inches between them, shuts her eyes and meets the cowboy halfway. She kisses him first, the action igniting a similar sensation as diving off a cliff into unknown water: thrilling, scary, but addictively exciting at the same time. Thankfully Dean instantly responds, welding his lips against hers and taking away her insecurity. Y/N half registers him cupping her face, careful not to break the moment, but the rush of blood to the head soon has her so dizzy that she has trouble focusing. 

He lingers in the kiss, drawing out the moment for as long as he can. Then they part, pausing for a second as both wranglers open their eyes. Stunned, they stare at each other. Her hand has slid down to his chest, and he knows she can feel it rising and falling under her touch, his heart beating against her palm like a drum. Trying to get a hold of himself, he takes a breath, a small smile forming on his parted lips as he swipes a frizzy strand of hair from her face. He always thought she was beautiful, but in this light, looking at him like she does now… My God, beauty doesn’t even begin to define her.   
  
Now he moves in, less hesitant, drowning in another kiss before he can help himself. His lips graze over hers eagerly, deepening the connection when she allows him to. Giving the cowboy permission, even chasing him in the touch, sets him free completely. Finally, he is able to push past the self-consciousness. Finally, he can dismiss the voice within that tells him that she deserves so much better. The woman he’s in love with wants to be with _ him_ and nothing has ever felt so liberating. He lets her know, by tracing the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb. By resting his forehead against hers for a brief moment when he needs to come up for air. By putting every bit of want and adoration into their first kiss.   
  
Every one of Y/N's senses is set in overdrive. As she breathes him in, she smells the aroma of aftershave from this morning’s trim, mixed with the scent of leather, horses and dust. She tastes the salt on his slightly chapped lips and El Corona on his tongue. She hears his respiration, the sound of him pulling in oxygen whenever his mouth parts from her for a short second, blend with the noise of her own breaths. But it’s how he touches her that blows her mind. He cradles her head, curled fingertips pressing in her skin as if he’s afraid he will lose what he just gained. Moved, she cards her fingers through his short hair and pulls him even closer, letting him know that she isn’t going anywhere. And all this time, her palm covers his heart, the steady rhythm that beats under her touch intensifying the intimacy. Wanting to stay here with her as long as possible, he lets his free hand slip over hers.   
  
After an entire month of fighting this feeling, contemplating whether this is a good idea or not, they broke through the restraints. For now, the self-doubt is gone, the fear of commitment with it. Neither of them worries about the consequences of their actions, nor about the fact that Y/N will leave in five months. At this very moment, all that matters is that they allowed each other in. Here at Willow Spring in the Superstition Mountains, Arizona. The center of the universe.


End file.
